


The Iron Underneath

by turtle_paced



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-04 09:06:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4131922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turtle_paced/pseuds/turtle_paced
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lyanna loves her songs, both happy and sad. She's learned better than to want to live one. But to protect her son, and to keep what remains of her family, she'll live whatever song she must. Canon AU, Lyanna survives the Tower of Joy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Iron Underneath

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go with a long list of trigger warnings and content notes. Statutory rape, marital dubcon, spousal abuse (physical, sexual, and emotional), mental illness, critical misunderstanding of mental illness, background suicide, stillbirth, sexual assault, discussion of self-harm in order to abort, misogynistic language, and several canonical character deaths. So, basically, a happy sort of tale.
> 
> Also, not a romance (in case the laundry list of partner violence there didn't tip you off). This probably isn't one for the shippers.

How long she slept, she did not know, and when she woke it was all ache and air that was too cold and yet stiflingly hot. _How?_ she thought muzzily. _That can’t be right._ She opened her eyes only with great effort.

“Lyanna?” someone familiar and dear said from near her head. He sounded as weary as she felt.

But consciousness was brief. Her eyes fell closed and everything faded again before she even recognised the speaker. Him. There was someone she had wanted to come to her bed. His name floated out of reach.

The next time she woke things were clearer. Still painful, especially low in her belly. Even abed she could feel the weakness in her limbs. And though the air was thick in a way that suggested dusty Dornish heat, she could still feel a chill.

“Milady?” a woman’s voice asked. This too was a familiar voice. She had heard it often in the past few days – or the past few days she had been awake. Even weak and in pain, she had the idea that those days might not be the same. “Milady, are you awake?”

Wylla. That was her name. The midwife.

That reminded her. “My son,” she croaked. “My son –“

“He’s right here,” Wylla soothed her. “In my arms. I just finished nursing him.” Without being asked, she lowered the infant to the bed so Lyanna could see him. With another massive effort, Lyanna moved her arm so she could touch her babe. She already knew she would not be able to hold him in her state.

He was so soft. He fussed a little at Lyanna’s touch. But he was well-fed and sleepy, so he quickly settled. “Healthy as a horse,” Wylla assured her. “He’s been very well-behaved.”

The last thing Lyanna felt before she herself fell back asleep was Wylla picking her son back up.

The third time she woke, Ned was by her side. Asleep. “I thought I dreamed you,” she said, and her brother startled awake.

“Lya?” 

“I’m awake. So are you, now.”

He stood to get her some water. “Howland and Wylla both said you woke briefly earlier." 

“I’m surprised I woke at all.” 

“We feared that for a while,” Ned said gravely. “You were very ill.”

Her belly still hurt and her arms still felt like lead. “You don’t have to tell me that, Ned. I was there.” She looked at her brother more closely. He didn’t look well himself. Like he was wilting in the heat. Red grit was ground into his clothes and he had a peeling sunburn. His eyes were harder than she remembered them.

“You should rest,” Ned said, once he made sure she drank.

“There are so many things I must tell you,” she protested.

“We will speak of them, once your strength has returned,” Ned promised. “I fear you will need all the strength you can muster.” 

She nodded. The movement jarred through her skull. “Before I rest again, Ned – my son?” 

In response, Ned stood again. She watched him as he retrieved a cloth-wrapped bundle. Her son. Ned held him awkwardly. Lyanna thought the last babe he had held so must have been Benjen, all those years ago. “Does he have a name?” Ned asked her, as he brought him over. 

“No,” Lyanna said. “I – I didn’t want to. Not yet. I couldn’t think.”

“He has your look.”

“Yes,” she agreed. And she was so, so glad. She didn’t want her son to look like his hateful father. She wanted them both to go on living and never missing him at all. 

Ned set her babe on the bed beside her, as Wylla had done. This time it was easier for her to reach out and touch him, to wrap her hand around his chubby infant arm. “He’s so small,” she said, and felt tears pricking at her eyes. 

“He’ll be safe,” Ned said. “I promised you.”

 

\---

 

It was another two days before Lyanna was strong enough to sit up in bed for any substantial length of time. Her confinement was starting to chafe again, and the broth Wylla brought bore her.

After so long alone (except for the Kingsguard Rhaegar had sent to her), she wanted to talk. Wylla was kind, it was true, but it was Howland and Ned she really wanted to speak to. Howland was quiet – though he told her with a smile that his wife had borne a daughter – and Ned was avoiding her. It was an easy enough thing to do whilst she was restricted to her bed.

She started to think that he might hate her. It had been one of her darker fears all the time she’d been alone. Ned loved her. Ned had always loved her. She didn’t _want_ to believe that this time she might have done something to ruin it. 

Worse, if he did hate her, she couldn’t blame him for it. She didn’t like herself much at the moment. _Brandon. Father. It’s my fault._  

So it was a relief when Ned at last came in, the first evening since he’d arrived that she’d been able to stand, and said, “We ought to discuss what we’re going to do. We cannot stay here forever.”

Ned had ever been a practical soul. He would not be able to rest until he had this sorted to his satisfaction. If matters weren’t so serious, Lyanna would have smiled to know that in this, at least, he was unchanged. 

“My son first,” Lyanna said. She needed to know her babe would be safe.

Ned’s face twisted as he said, “You must know you cannot keep him, Lya.”

It was as she had feared. She knew Rhaegar was dead; she knew that his other children had been murdered. Her Kingsguard captors had told her that much. If it were known she had borne a babe in her confinement, everyone and their dog could reason that that babe had been fathered by Rhaegar. 

Nobody was going to dash _her_ son’s head against a wall.

“I know,” she said. She had never said anything so painful in her life.

“I will take him,” Ned continued. “He looks enough like you that nobody will question me if I say he’s mine. He can live in Winterfell as my bastard. It won’t be an easy life for him, but he will have me and in time, I hope, he’ll have cousins to keep him company as well.”

Lyanna could already feel tears dripping down her face. She knew it had to be done. Nobody was going to kill her babe if she could help it. “If I can’t keep him, I wouldn’t have anyone but you raise him,” she said. She meant it. 

Ned hesitated. “Will you give me leave to name him, then? If he is to be my bastard, he should have a name that I would choose myself.”

Now there was a lump in her throat. Unable to speak, she nodded.

“Jon,” Ned said. “I’m sorry, Lya, I cannot give a bastard one of our family names.” It would be expected that Ned give those names to his trueborn children.

“No,” she said, voice thick, “Jon is a good name. Rhaegar was convinced he would be a girl. He wanted a Visenya. Anything that is _not_ Visenya is fine with me.” It would be one more thing to spit on Rhaegar’s grave – instead of a Visenya with her Valyrian name and her silver-gold hair, his son would be a good Northern man with a name one could find anywhere in the kingdoms.

“Howland and Wylla will take him to Greywater Watch, and when I return to Winterfell, they’ll take Jon there. Like any woman presenting a lord with his bastard after a war. He’ll be safe, Lya, I promise.”

“I believe you.”

They sat in silence for a minute. “Will you bring him to me?” Lyanna asked. “I would hold him while I can.”

Her brother did so.

“What will happen to me?” she asked, once Jon was settled in her arms. Her son was a quiet babe, and would not likely interrupt her discussion with his uncle. Even if he would do such a thing, she wanted to hold him while she still had the chance. The decision had been made. Their time was very limited.

“Robert still wishes to marry you,” Ned said.

The words were a blow to her breastbone. “I’ve laid with Rhaegar,” she said. 

“Everyone knows that,” he replied. “It’s no matter to Robert, he’s said as much.”

“I _wed_ Rhaegar.”

Ned sucked in a breath. “Who knows?" 

“Nobody,” she said. “We were alone.”

He wanted to say more. She could see it in his eyes, in the hard set of his mouth. But he had just asked her to give up her son. He knew not to press further. “Then it hardly matters. As far as anyone knows…”

“I was kidnapped and raped,” Lyanna finished for him. She might as well have been. She was not ready to say that to Ned yet. She did not want to say such a thing while her son was in her arms, the son she was glad would never know his father. Tomorrow, perhaps, she would tell Ned, if he wanted to know. “One more thing. I have borne a child. I cannot hide the marks from Robert.”

She realised she was already speaking as if she would wed Robert. She did not want to. What she wanted did not matter – the last time she did what she wanted, half her family was murdered. _Father would be proud of me at last._

Not to mention she had Jon to think of. If wedding Robert could help protect Jon she would do it. 

“We can tell him your babe was a stillborn girl,” Ned suggested. “A girl’s claim is weak, a bastard’s claim weaker, and a dead child’s non-existent.”

Lyanna clutched her very much alive, very much legitimate son closer to her chest. “Can you do it?” she asked. Ned so rarely lied about anything, and Robert was his closest friend. 

“I can do it,” Ned said. The flickering candlelight made his grim expression grimmer. “He’ll believe me.” 

“Thank you,” Lyanna whispered, unable to meet his eyes and looking down to her peacefully sleeping son instead. This was all her fault. If she had just gone to Brandon’s wedding like she was supposed to and married Robert in the first place, this would never have happened.

Nor would she have Jon. She could not find it in herself to regret Jon.

Her attention was taken off her babe by Ned’s voice again. “I owe you an apology, Lya,” he was saying. “You did not wish to wed Robert and told me certain truths about his character. I did not believe you. I was wrong. If I thought there was a way out of this situation without you wedding him, I would take it.” 

“I could leave Westeros,” she said, not really meaning it. If she left Westeros, she would leave everything. She would never be Lyanna Stark again, sister of Eddard and Benjen. She would never see her son again. It wasn’t worth it. After losing one brother she did not want to lose the other two. She changed the subject. “Did you quarrel with Robert?”

“I did,” Ned said.

“Over?” The matter piqued her curiosity. Ned so rarely quarrelled with anyone.

This time, Ned was the one to look away. “Rhaegar’s children,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” Lyanna said. Of course Ned would not stand for the murder of children. He was a good man, her brother. The best. “I would have hoped he was a better man too.”

“I doubt you are in any danger from him.” 

“I hope not.”

They lapsed into silence again. Lyanna’s strength was starting to flag. This was by far the longest conversation she’d had for several months, even before she’d fallen ill. And there was still something she must say. “Ned,” she began, not sure how to phrase it. “Ned, I have to apologise to you too.”

“No, Lyanna –“ 

“Don’t lie, Ned,” she snapped. “Not to me. I need to say sorry. For everything. I know you, you must have been angry with me. And I’m _sorry_ , Ned, truly I am. I know it was all my fault.”

“I was angry,” Ned said. “Until I saw what became of Rhaegar’s children I don’t think I’ve ever been so angry in my life. But it was not all your fault, Lya.”

“Just some of it.”

“Some of it, aye. But you did not make Aerys do what he did. You did not make even Brandon do what he did. And I forgive you. Holding a grudge won’t bring our family back. I’m just glad you’re still alive.” He smiled wanly.

“I wish I could bring them back,” Lyanna said. She was almost falling asleep again now. “I’d give anything.”

Lyanna was a daughter of House Stark, though, and the sons and daughters of House Stark did not pine abed wishing that the winter had never come. The tears they shed would freeze on their faces.

The children of House Stark might weep for their losses, but they would always do more than just weep.

 

\---

 

Lyanna met Rhaegar again on the Isle of Faces, as they’d agreed. Her heart had raced the whole journey, and now it felt like it might beat straight out of her chest. She’d never done anything this daring before, not even when she was the Knight of the Laughing Tree.

Her steps were light as she made her way to the heart tree. She felt like dancing. Not even the lengthening sunset shadows or the oppressive anger of the trees here could touch her. 

When she entered the clearing before the heart tree, Rhaegar gave her one of his rare smiles. “My lady knight,” he said. Even in plain clothing, seated on the ground, practicing with his harp like any minstrel would, he was so beautiful it made her blush. He’d tied his silver hair back, so his fine-boned face was unobstructed. He felt more real to her in that moment than he ever had before. Rhaegar Targaryen was a man, a real breathing man, and she was going to wed him, bed him, and run away with him. Not that he knew the first part yet.

“My prince,” Lyanna replied. She laughed, face still aflame. “My love.”

“Shall we spend the night here?” he asked. “It’s too late in the day to journey on, I think.”

The words did nothing to reduce the heat in her cheeks, but Lyanna had promised herself that she would not be timid with this man. Now was no time to act like a blushing maid (even if she _was_ a blushing maid), not when she had run out on her brother’s own wedding to escape her betrothed.

“I have something to ask of you first, my prince,” she said, as boldly as she could. “My terms for coming with you, if you will.”

“Name them,” Rhaegar said. He did not look angered, only amused. A good sign.

“Marry me,” she said. “Now. Before the heart tree. I do not want to be your mistress, I want to be your wife.”

His amusement faded, replaced by an appraising look. “This would have to do with your betrothal to Robert Baratheon,” he said.

“Not just him,” Lyanna protested. Thankfully, she could feel the heat in her cheeks fading. “If it all goes wrong, I don’t want to be forced to wed him, it’s true, but it’s about you as well. I meant it. I want to _marry you._ Nobody else. My father cannot make me.”

He continued to simply look at her, unearthly violet eyes boring into her own. “Very well,” he said at last. She couldn’t quite read him then, but he did not look so displeased. “There is little issue on my part. Targaryens have had two brides before. It will be a traditional Northern wedding for my un-traditional Northern lady.” 

“It won’t be traditional at all,” Lyanna said, beaming. “My lord father isn’t here to give me away.” That was what she had run from. She was not going to be given away.

Rhaegar smiled at her again. “It is the witness of your gods that matters, is it not?”

“Yes,” she said, and stepped forward, closer to Rhaegar and the heart tree. “It’s a proper weirwood.” Red leaves, white bark, and a face that watched and hated. Not the tree she wished to be wed before, but better than none.

“And it is watching us,” Rhaegar added. “I can feel it.” He cocked his head slightly. “For all that face despises us, I don’t think your gods do.” 

“I should hope not!” Lyanna marched past Rhaegar and up to the tree, laying a hand on its pale bark. “Lyanna of House Stark comes here to be wed. A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble, she comes to beg the blessings of the gods. Who comes to claim her?”

“Rhaegar of House Targaryen,” her love said, taking his cue. “I claim her.” He looked at her for the next lines. Well-read as he was, he had clearly never been to a Northern wedding.

“Who gives her?” Lyanna prompted him.

“Who gives her?” Rhaegar asked, and his eyes glinted with amusement. 

“Nobody gives her,” Lyanna said. “She comes here of her own will and her own accord, to marry the man she loves. I will take this man.” _Whether my father likes it or no._

“And I in turn will take this woman,” Rhaegar said.

Lyanna took his hand in hers, and together they knelt before the heart tree. She could feel the old gods watching in this moment too, a curious presence behind the twisted face carved into the weirwood. When they rose, she shed her travelling cloak, and Rhaegar took off his own plain cloak to fasten it around her neck. “There,” he said. “A proper marriage.”

Lyanna giggled. “Not so proper.”

“My lady,” Rhaegar said seriously, “No wedding ever is. The best weddings are not _for_ propriety.” He looked up. “We do have grand decorations. See, the tree almost looks as though it’s burning.”

He was right. The last of the sunlight picked out the weirwood’s red leaves in an even brighter scarlet, while the gathering gloom showed up the pale trunk. It looked strange and out of place, a thing of fire and bone and winter in the chill twilight.

“It’s lovely,” Lyanna said, determined not to be scared of a tree, even a heart tree. The gods seemed to her to be angry now, the carved face no longer hateful but young and furious and afraid. She ignored it. “But this wedding isn’t finished.” She shed the cloak Rhaegar had just fastened around her throat and spread it out on the ground. “There’s still the bedding. Lacking guests, my lord, will you undress me?” 

Rhaegar smiled again. “Always direct. It shall be my pleasure, Lyanna.”

For the rest of the night, she could not bring herself to care about angry gods, her father’s inevitable rage, or even how cool the night air was on her bare skin.

Later she would realise her mistakes.

 

\---

 

It galled her now how stupid she’d been. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

What had she known of men? _Really_ known of men, that was. It wasn’t enough to know that some would be unfaithful. That wasn’t the only direction their depravity could run to.

Some men would be faithful and smile sweetly and give her flowers, and only really love the idea of a daughter in her womb. Some men would lock her in a tower while they warred on behalf of the man who murdered her family. 

Lyanna was well enough to travel at last, though she was still a long way from her prior strength. She was not in need of Wylla’s care, at least, and today was the day she and Ned were to leave for Starfall.

They could not all travel together, Lyanna accepted that. Lyanna Stark could not be seen with a babe; a crannogman and a Dornishwoman might make an odd pair, but one nobody would care overmuch about. They would leave three days from now and head straight for Greywater Watch, there to await word that Ned had returned to Winterfell. “I will take care of him,” Howland said to her. His seriousness matched Ned’s. “As if he were my own.”

“I know you will,” Lyanna said. She did not hand her babe over to him. “You are a good friend to me. Just…a minute more, Howland, please?”

“I understand,” Howland said. “I will be waiting just over there.” He retreated out of sight, to give her the space she wanted.

She looked down at Jon. It was the last time she would see him or touch him for years. The last time she would hold him as his mother, rather than as his aunt. She had to give him up or he would die. So might Ned, and so might she. It was best for all of them if she gave him up. And he would have a good life with his uncle, she knew he would. He would be loved and provided for. He would be amongst his family, just not at his mother’s side.

But oh, it hurt.

The long moons she had been in that tower with Kingsguard at the door, the babe in her belly had been the only company she trusted. It was him she talked to, him she sang to, him to whom she’d spilled out all her grief over Brandon and her father. He’d been all she lived for, him and the hope that Ned would free her.

All the plans for the future she’d made in those months had involved him. Finding somewhere to hide him. Finding somewhere to raise him. A way to protect him from his father and grandfather.

Well, she had it, and all she had to do was hand Jon to Howland. Hand Jon to Howland, and then ride away.

“Uncle Ned will look after you now,” she whispered. “I love you. I’ll always love you, even if I can’t keep you. I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

For her son, she’d wed worse than the likes of Robert Baratheon. She would be his queen and let him into her bed without hesitation if it meant she could see her son safe and happy.

She shed no tears as she gave her babe to Howland, but it was a close thing. For his part, Howland said nothing. If he had, Lyanna did not think she’d be able to restrain herself.

Even so, it was all she could do to mount her horse and follow Ned.

For half the day they rode in silence, and Lyanna tried to lose herself in the pleasure of being on a horse again. She had not ridden anywhere for moons, not for fun. She had missed it, and missed it dearly. The Red Mountains were not the most beautiful scenery, though, and eventually she tired of the silence and the slow pace meant to spare her health. 

“I was enjoying myself when last I rode this way,” she said aloud, and saw Ned’s shoulders stiffen. “I don’t hold the memory so dear now.” 

“Don’t you?” Ned asked, eyes ahead. 

His words made Lyanna fume. “I was a prisoner in that tower. Just because I didn’t realise it until it was too late doesn’t mean I was any less a prisoner. Why should I have fond memories of my captor?”

She saw the tension drain right back out of her brother. “You are right, of course,” he said. After another few minutes of riding, he asked, “Did he treat you so ill?”

“Not at first,” she admitted. “I don’t think he ever thought of it as ‘treating me ill.’ He just needed me out of the way while I bore him the Visenya he wanted. And he didn’t want me to go back to you, even after what happened to Brandon and Father.”

“When did he tell you?” 

“After,” she said, recalling that day. “A long time after he found out, just before he went to war himself. He kept it from me. I begged him to let me go, or to stay himself, or to act against his father, or anything but go to battle against you, but he would not listen.” Her love for Rhaegar had died that day. Its corpse had rotted into active hatred since. 

Ned sighed. “When Ben told me you went of your own accord, I wondered if you knew what happened to them. I knew that if you found out straight away you would do whatever you could to return, and that if it was hidden from you that you would never forgive the liar.” Lyanna nodded. She knew that his assessment of her character was sound. He looked back at her for a long moment, seemingly at a loss for words. “I wish that you could have been happy,” he said at last. 

She thought of her son as she had left him that morning, asleep in Howland Reed’s arms. “We are Starks,” she said. “We’re not meant to be happy. We’re meant to survive.” 

Ned barked out a laugh at that. “Well then, I wish there were less harsh ways of teaching us the lesson.”

After another long silence, Lyanna spoke again. “What will you tell Lady Ashara?” she asked.

“In regards to what?”

“Me,” Lyanna said. “Jon. Her brother.”

“I cannot tell her anything but the truth about Ser Arthur’s fate,” Ned said. The wrapped bundle of Dawn was strapped to the late Lord Dustin’s horse, pointedly ignored. “I killed him. That is that.”

“You’re not going to find softer words for her?”

“What words can soften that blow? You ought to know better.”

“I’m sorry, Ned.” She tried to smile. “It seems we do nothing but apologise to each other these last few days.” She, at least, had much to apologise for.

Ned ignored that comment. “As for the Daynes, they already knew you were with child, else they would not have sent you Wylla. Her absence must needs be explained to them.”

Lyanna scowled to herself. “Do you trust them?” She had not trusted Ser Arthur, not as far as she could throw him.

“I trust Lady Ashara,” Ned said. Lyanna rolled her eyes. Her brother more than simply trusted Lady Ashara. “And Lord Dayne seems to me a man of honour. They will keep our secret.” 

Come to think of it, Ser Arthur had said Ned had wed Catelyn Tully, Brandon’s betrothed, in Brandon’s place. He would return to Winterfell to a bride he barely knew with a bastard and a lie. Even if he didn’t love Lady Catelyn like he loved Lady Ashara, he would not want to insult her.

It would be a bad start to his marriage, and he did it for her sake. “Are you going to say goodbye to Lady Ashara?” she asked, reminded of how much her brother had suffered beyond the shared loss of Brandon and their father.

“If she’ll let me,” Ned said. “I did kill her brother and wed another woman. I don’t want to talk about it, Lya.”

She left it alone, despite her curiosity, and went back to watching the scenery. She wished she were well enough to kick her horse into a gallop. She wished she could go back and reclaim her son.

 

\---

 

Lord Dayne greeted them with anxious eyes. “My brother?” he asked.

In reply, Ned silently presented him with Dawn.

“I see,” Lord Dayne said, and bowed his head, accepting the bundle. “Thank you for returning his sword to us, Lord Stark. I trust you buried him and his brothers in white.”

“With my own hands,” Ned said. “He died with honour. You have no cause to be ashamed.”

“We never did,” Lord Dayne said. “Arthur was a good man.”

Maybe he had been. Lyanna knew him mostly as a captor. He had always been polite to her. He had tried to be pleasant company. But he had also been utterly unyielding in following Rhaegar’s orders to keep her in that tower. She had tried to run, once. Ser Arthur had found her and brought her back. The marks on her wrists from that incident had long since healed, or Ned might have changed his opinions of Ser Arthur.

Arthur Dayne, too, had known about the deaths of Lyanna’s family before she did. She hated him as much as she hated Rhaegar.

Now was not the time to make a point of it. She didn’t think she had the energy. Besides, Ned liked these people, and it was at least partly her fault that he didn’t get to marry Lady Ashara.

Ned noticed her fatigue and said, “Forgive us, my sister has been ill.” It did not take long for the Dayne servants to usher her to a dim, quiet tower room for her to rest in. It wasn’t red stone and the hangings on the wall were different. Otherwise it wasn’t so different from the tower Rhaegar had kept her in.

“I will not be kept in here,” Lyanna whispered furiously to her brother. “I _will_ come to eat with everyone this evening. You make sure someone comes to get me.” 

“Of course,” Ned said. If Brandon had made such a promise she wouldn’t have believed him. “Will you rest until then?”

“Will _you_ not talk about me behind my back?” Lyanna countered.

“I won’t,” Ned said, and Lyanna knew he’d keep his word on that too. “I was going to speak with Lady Ashara.”

Lyanna searched Ned’s face. He might still be the same good, kind, reliable Ned she’d adored all her life, but he must have changed this past year. She was only just now seeing it. Before everything, he would not have simply said that he was going to speak to a lady. He’d got braver. And harder. 

_I wish you could have been happy_ , he’d said to her. _Oh, Ned, I wish you could have been happy too._

She took her rest. If she was honest with herself, she needed it. It had been a long time since such a light day of riding had left her this saddle-sore. Even if she managed to come to dinner as she intended, she’d probably fall asleep immediately afterwards.

The narrow window of her room, she was gratified to discover, overlooked the sea. That alone made her feel less trapped.

After a nap and a bath (her desire for which had been anticipated), she went to the evening meal and found a household in mourning. Of course they were. Lord and Lady Dayne were somber, Lady Ashara nowhere to be seen. Ned was miserable too. Half of Lyanna’s heart fit right in. She wanted her son back in her arms, and she could never, ever have that. She was coming to suspect that the feeling would never go away.

The other half of her was ecstatic. She was far from that godsdamned tower, never to return. Ned had come to rescue her. Her door was unguarded and she had a horse in the stable. She could _leave_. She was _free._ That half of her wanted to laugh and laugh and laugh and everyone to share her joy.

She tempered the impulse. The Daynes – the Daynes that were present and not rotting in the ground, good riddance to Ser Arthur – had been nothing but considerate to her and her brother.

All evening she tried to keep the conversation light. It had been a long time since she’d been able to sit and chat about just anything. For the first time she heard the story of the war – Robert’s Rebellion, they were calling it now – and how it had played out. The Kingsguard at the tower had told her little, and she had overheard only scant bits more.

Nor had she asked Ned for any detailed accounts yet, though she quickly heard he had won a famous victory at Stony Sept, and broke the siege at Storm’s End shortly before he came to find her. It was hard to imagine Ned leading an army, but easy to imagine him planning battles in a tent with a big stack of maps. It was very easy to be proud of him.

The next morning, Lyanna received an unexpected visitor – the famous Lady Ashara.

Lyanna had not paid much attention to the other woman at Harrenhal, too wrapped up in being the Knight of the Laughing Tree (and in Rhaegar’s attention) to be more than mildly curious about the lady Ned was so keen on. She rarely envied other women their looks, since it seemed to her pointless, but she remembered being jealous of Lady Ashara’s striking purple eyes.

Now those striking eyes were dull, and her skin was more pasty than pale. Lady Ashara looked ill.

“Good morning,” Lyanna ventured.

“Good morning,” Lady Ashara said. “I don’t think we’ve met before, Lady Lyanna.”

“No, not formally, Lady Ashara. Please, just Lyanna will do.”

“Lyanna,” Lady Ashara said.

“My brother has told me a lot about you,” Lyanna added. Brandon, that was, because he was busy teasing Ned with all the gossip he could find about his lady love. As usual, it cut to think of her murdered brother. He’d died for her.

“Has he.” Lady Ashara seemed entirely disinterested. Nor did she move the conversation on.

Working hard, Lyanna said, “Did you want anything in particular of me? Might you join me for breakfast, perhaps?”

“No,” Lady Ashara replied. “I just came to see whether you were worth it.” 

Lyanna saw red. “ _What?_ ” She knew when she left to meet Rhaegar that people would forever label her a whore, but she had never expected anyone to be so blunt about it. Nor had she expected it from anyone Ned held in such regard. Before she knew it she was on her feet, fists clenched. 

“You misunderstand,” Lady Ashara said in the same flat tone she’d used all conversation. “My brother is dead because I told _your_ brother where you were. Ned _thanked_ me for it. I thought if I met you I might remind myself that I supposedly succeeded in my aims.”

“Is it working?” Lyanna asked coldly.

“Nothing will work,” Ashara replied. “My brother is dead.”

“It’s not my fault.” It wasn’t. Lady Ashara had to know that Ned had killed her precious brother, Ned wouldn’t lie about that, he said he wouldn’t. And it wasn’t her fault Ser Arthur had drawn his sword against Ned either.

At last, Lady Ashara’s expression changed. Just one corner of her mouth turned upwards, in the tiniest, bitterest smile Lyanna had ever seen. “What part of it is? Myself, I blame Rhaegar more than I blame you. You’re but a girl. He should have known better. For what it’s worth, Elia thought the same, even after Rhaegar left her in the Red Keep with his father. She didn’t deserve his mistreatment either.”

Shocked, Lyanna sat back down. “Still,” she said, head held high, “Part of it _is_ my fault. I should not have gone with him. I bear some of the blame for what happened after.”

“A victim of kidnap and rape is not responsible for the crimes committed against her,” Ashara said. “Remember that. We have all given up too much to lose everything with loose words.”

Ashara was trying to _help_ her. She looked so poorly, and she was clearly grieving, but she was trying to help. “I’m sorry,” Lyanna said, slightly abashed despite her resentment. “I’ll be more careful in future.”

“The Starks will always be safe in Starfall,” Ashara said. “My brother has given his word. If he hadn’t, I would defy him still.”

“Thank you.” The words were awkward. The situation was awkward. Lady Ashara was not doing anything to make it less so. But the sentiment was welcome. “I suspect my own brother will say the Daynes are ever welcome in Winterfell.”

Ashara nodded. “He has.”

Lyanna’s curiosity got the better of her then. Besides, if Ashara wasn’t going to move the conversation along, Lyanna had to. “Have you spoken to Ned yet?” 

“I have,” Ashara said. “It gave neither of us any joy. He simply wished to say goodbye to me.”

“He wanted to marry you,” Lyanna said. “He’s been trying to hide it, but he’s heartbroken.” Another thing Ned could have blamed her for. Lyanna was starting to wonder why Ned forgave her at all.

At her words, Ashara’s face filled with a terrible bleakness. “I don’t see why. He’s wed to a whole woman now, not a broken one who would betray her own brother to his death. He’ll be better off with Catelyn Tully, even if he doesn’t think so now.”

“He loves you.”

“He deserves better.”

Lyanna was getting angry again. “And you think a woman in love with our dead brother would be better for him?” Ned had mentioned little of his wife save the disappointment in her eyes when she beheld him for the first time.

“If she has any sense, she’ll come around. I’m glad he didn’t wed me.”

“If you’re just going to mope about it, I’m glad too,” Lyanna snapped. It was a cruel thing to say, perhaps, but she didn’t like Lady Ashara much and her self-pity was frustrating. She broke Ned’s heart and then didn’t even have the decency to think she was worth Ned’s love in the first place? Lyanna had no time for that.

But even her harsh words didn’t provoke much of a reaction. Lady Ashara simply nodded and left, leaving Lyanna utterly bewildered.

 

\---

 

Rhaegar and Lyanna had been enjoying a simple meal together in the solitude of their tower when Ser Arthur Dayne arrived to spoil it all. Even then she had resented his presence, not knowing how time would add to that feeling.

“Company?” Rhaegar asked when they heard the horse outside, raising an elegant eyebrow. “How unexpected.”

“I thought you said nobody would know where we were!” 

“Nobody save one, my lady.” He smiled at her. “I’m afraid I am still a prince of the realm and cannot disappear entirely. I told Ser Arthur. I trust him completely. He was the one who suggested we come to this place, in fact.”

The man who entered the tower could have been a brother to Rhaegar in his Valyrian colouring. He was handsome rather than beautiful, with a strong nose and a proud, square jaw. “My prince,” he greeted Rhaegar, and then to Lyanna he said, “My princess.”

He was the first person to call her a princess. Rhaegar must have informed him of their wedding as well. Lyanna smiled at the knight. “No need for that, ser.” 

Rhaegar added, “I, too, have given up addressing her as a princess deserves. She will not have it and I despair of her.” 

“Very well. My lady.” He bowed, and then turned to Rhaegar. “I must speak to you in private, your grace.” 

Ser Arthur looked to be tired and travel-worn. “Will you sit with us and eat first, ser?” Lyanna asked. She could be a good hostess if she tried. “You look as though the road has not treated you well.”

The knight hesitated. “My lady, forgive me, I must speak to Prince Rhaegar before anything else.”

Rhaegar smiled at her. “Will you indulge us? I beg your forgiveness for asking you to leave.”

She didn’t like it, but Rhaegar had asked. “I’ll go get more water. _Then_ Ser Arthur can join us for the remainder of the meal.” Lyanna left with as good grace as she could muster. That would show them she could behave like a princess if she wanted to. 

She took her time getting the water. When she opened the door, Rhaegar and Ser Arthur immediately stopped their conversation. Both looked grim. “Is there a problem?” she asked.

“No,” Rhaegar said, crossing the room to take her hand. “No, there is no problem, my love. It’s just my father being my father. I may have to return to King’s Landing shortly to deal with his affairs.”

“It can wait until the Lord Commander sends word,” Ser Arthur said gravely. “He will likely do that soon.”

“You conspire with your Lord Commander to steal my prince from me?” Lyanna said in mock horror. “How terrible you are, ser knight.”

Both men smiled. Later she would realize that they had forced themselves to do so, because his father had murdered half her family and she didn’t know. At the time, it was simply enough cause for resentment that Ser Arthur was there at all.

 

\---

 

The trip north from Starfall was horrid. Ned was all but silent. Whatever Lady Ashara had said to him, it had cut him to the quick. It didn’t make her feel more kindly towards the other woman.

When she said as much to Ned, he told her, “She wasn’t like that at all at Harrenhal. Ashara…liked to laugh.”

“She doesn’t look like it now.” 

“You have no idea how much she’s suffered this past year,” Ned said evenly. He was angry with her. He got angry just like their father used to. She had never been afraid of her father and she wasn’t going to start being afraid of Ned now.

“I’ve got some idea how much _you’ve_ suffered this past year,” Lyanna snapped back at him. 

“No,” Ned said. “You don’t.”

Lyanna frowned. “Ned? Did something else happen?” 

“A lot of things have happened.”

“Be like that,” Lyanna said. “You don’t want to talk to me, fine.” 

And Ned didn’t. It drove Lyanna wild. With Ned being the way he was, she missed her babe more than ever. She wanted to hold him, sing to him, watch him grow.

She also didn’t want to leave Ned alone, exactly, when he was clearly upset about everything that happened with Lady Ashara ( _why_ did he like her so much?), but there was no denying that he was poor company at the moment. And Lyanna wanted to talk to someone. Someone who understood what she’d been through in that tower.

The trip took them through most of Dorne and a large part of the Reach. Lyanna had taken a ship with Rhaegar when she’d come south and saw little of the land. Spring had truly arrived, now, and she did her best to enjoy riding.

_Look, Ben, I’m on a proper adventure now. Just me and Ned. We’re both enjoying it so._

Every day they got closer to King’s Landing. Every day they got closer to Robert Baratheon. 

The evening before they thought they would arrive at King’s Landing, just before they found an inn for the evening, Ned said to her, “You don’t have to wed Robert if you don’t want to.” 

Lyanna smiled at him. “Yes, I do, Ned. I’ve learned that much.”

“I mean it. You could leave Westeros. I’m sure I could find some way to support you.”

“But I’d have to go further than just Braavos or Pentos,” she said. Once she’d dreamed of visiting those cities. “And once I’d gone I could never come back. I’m going to stay, Ned, even if I have to marry Robert to do it.”

She wished she could have realized it before. If she had, her father might be alive. Brandon might be alive. Why had she been so stupid?

Ned looked away. He was probably thinking the same thing.

And yet she still could not regret Jon. His short existence had brought nobody joy but her. Her babe was the result of her foolishness and his father’s manipulation. One of his grandfathers had killed the other and his uncle Brandon as well, and his uncle Ned would pay dearly to raise him. The entire realm had paid in blood for her to have the chance to bear him. _Does it make me a bad person, that after all that, I’m still glad he lives? Does it make me a bad person, that after all that, I still wish I could keep him?_

“I’m ready,” Lyanna assured him. “I mean it.” 

“You’re too good for him,” Ned said. “I’ll always be there for you if you need me, remember that.” 

“All the way in Winterfell? You’re very sweet, Ned, but I hope you’re done rescuing me from my own mistakes. I can deal with Robert.” 

Robert claimed to love her. Not that Lyanna trusted any such declaration. _Rhaegar_ had claimed to love her, after all. She had experience with men who thought they knew best for her now, and she would not let Robert lock her away. He could fuck all the women he liked if she could keep her freedom.

“Perhaps,” Ned said, “And you will come to know him better than I do. I will trust your judgment on him, Lya, as I should have from the start. I just wanted you to know that if you need me I will come.”

Ned’s words helped keep her strong as they rode through King’s Landing. This was the city that Tywin Lannister had sacked by treachery. There were still signs of it here and there, as well as signs of rebuilding. The whole place stank like a privy. It was hard to believe anyone could get used to this. 

On top of the highest hill was the Red Keep itself. This was where her father and brother were murdered, as well as her Jon’s brother and sister, and the wife Rhaegar had claimed to be so fond of. She would do well to remember that.

She would live in that very keep until the day she died. _It will not be my prison._ She repeated that to herself over and over as they approached the gates. _It will not be my prison._

A glance sideways at Ned told her that he was nervous too. He couldn’t hide it from her.

They dismounted their horses – Lyanna sent hers off to the stables with an affectionate pat – and Ned sent a footman to let the King and the Hand know that Lord Stark and his sister Lady Lyanna had arrived.

This was it, then. They were shown to an antechamber and settled in to wait.

 

\---

 

Nor did they have to wait long. It was not even half an hour before they heard the sounds of people approaching their antechamber. And Robert’s voice. He had not got any quieter since Lyanna saw him last.

“Where are they?” he practically bellowed. “Damn you, my lady’s here, and you’re giving me the runaround!”

Lyanna rolled her eyes and got up to open the door herself. “Here, your grace,” she said.

Robert was still a ways down the corridor, and stopped in his tracks when he saw her. He looked little different from when she had seen him last, dressed plain for riding, still very handsome by most women’s reckoning. “Lyanna,” he said. There was reverence in his voice when he said her name. It raised Lyanna’s hackles. Rhaegar had treated her like a precious _thing_ too. 

“Yes, your grace.”

“Don’t _your grace_ me. Not you. How can you just say that after –“

He clearly didn’t want to put the words to what he thought had happened to her. She didn’t want to help him. “My lord,” she said, “Ned and I would speak to you in private.”

Robert, surprisingly, did not react badly to the mention of Ned. Her brother had said that they had fought bitterly over the deaths of Rhaegar’s children by Princess Elia, to the point where Ned himself had been shouting. “Ned as well?” he said. “He never truly lets me down.” 

When Robert entered, Ned stood. Formal as always. “Your grace,” he said, just like Lyanna had.

And Robert crossed the room to embrace him. “Thank you, Ned. You brought her back.” He let go and stepped back. “You smell like horse.” 

“We rode hard to get here,” Ned said. Lyanna could tell he wasn’t sure how to react to Robert’s sudden forgetfulness about their fight. “Now we must talk. Before anything else.”

“What’s there to talk about?” Robert asked. “Lady Lyanna is here where she belongs. I’ll start the cooks on the wedding feast directly.”

Ned looked at Lyanna. _Which one of us will tell him?_

Lyanna took it out of Ned’s hands. “May we sit, my lord? This may not be a short conversation.”

“Yes, yes,” Robert said. “Sit. But what can we have to talk about, unless –“

“Yes,” Lyanna said, taking a seat. Ned had taken the seat next to her, not relaxing, while Robert sat across the table from them. Now they told the most important lies. “You know that none of this was my choice, Robert.”

“You had his child?” Robert whispered.

“If it’s your new throne you fear for, you needn’t worry,” Lyanna said. The words were easy. “The babe was stillborn.” 

Robert stood again and slammed his fist down on the table. Though it was made of solid wood, it creaked alarmingly. “Damn it, Lyanna!”

“It wasn’t my choice!” she snapped back at him. “Once he took me, I couldn’t decide _not_ to carry his child. He didn’t exactly allow me moon tea!”

Robert rounded on Ned. “What do you know of this?”

This was it. Lyanna’s heart was in her mouth. Poor Ned, lying to his friend for her and her son. She felt bad for forcing him to it, and terribly afraid that he would not be a good enough liar to protect them.

“That when I arrived at the tower where Lyanna was being kept, she had just given birth,” Ned said calmly. “She was very ill. There was a midwife present who told me of the circumstances.”

“ _The babe_ ,” Robert snarled.

“I buried the girl myself,” Ned said. “Child of rape notwithstanding, she was of my blood and deserved no less. I am no Tywin Lannister to present you with dead children.”

Robert deflated.

“You deserved to know,” Ned continued. “Will you hold Lyanna responsible for what was done to her against her will?”

Absurdly, Lyanna suddenly found herself wanting to laugh, just as much as she wanted to weep. Her brother was a very _good_ liar, it seemed. _If Brandon could see him now!_

“No,” Robert muttered, sitting back down. “But I don’t like it.” 

“None of us does,” Lyanna said. “My lord.” 

“Knowing this, are you still willing to wed her?” Ned asked. 

That made Robert look affronted. “Of course I am.” 

_He’ll just rue that he wasn’t the one to take my maidenhead._ Still, not every man would be willing to wed a woman raped, much less one who’d borne her raper’s child. She didn’t know whether she would have been happier if he’d rejected her. But he hadn’t, and so she had to do her part, without hesitation. “My lord, I still wish to wed you.” She made herself smile. This was for her son. “Even if it means being queen.” 

“Queen Lyanna has a good sound to it,” Robert said. He smiled broadly. It probably convinced a lot of women to share his bed. Lyanna found other circumstances more convincing. 

Ned interrupted. “Before we celebrate, we ought to let Jon know what has happened.” Lyanna started, then realised that he meant Jon Arryn, his foster father, the Hand of the King.

“You’re very boring, Ned,” Robert said. “But right, as always.”

Lyanna had never met Jon Arryn before, and didn’t know what to expect. He had practically raised both Ned and Robert, and they were as different as night and day. Hells, he was her own son’s namesake, not that she could ever tell anyone that.

When he arrived, he greeted her formally, and she thought _Ned._ Stuffier than Ned, but far more Ned than Robert.

The Hand listened to the brief account of Lyanna’s “stillbirth” without comment. His eyes – a paler blue than Robert’s – were shrewd, and she realized too late that this was the man she and Ned _truly_ had to fool.

Fortunately, he too took Ned at his word. “Your grace, Ned, my lady, pardon me for my indelicacy,” he said at last. “I am pleased to see you here, Lady Lyanna, and pleased that the wedding will be going ahead. I have just the one suggestion.” 

“Just the one?” Robert asked.

“For the moment,” Jon Arryn said. “And again, pardon me for what I must say. It would be advisable if Lady Lyanna were to take moon tea for at least six months following the wedding.”

Once again Robert scowled. “Rhaegar’s been dead half a year,” he snarled. “Hells, my lady just admitted to a stillbirth.” 

“And all of us here know beyond all doubt that she is honest and true. I would no more have people question Lady Lyanna’s honour than you would, your grace. But you know as well as I how rumour can sometimes turn a year to but a few months. A longer delay between wedding and heir is the simplest way to remove every single shred of doubt in the minds of the smallfolk and those who spread scurrilous rumours, and put the whole sorry mess behind us all.” 

“No,” Robert said instantly. Arryn had no doubt known he would object to such a plan. “That bastard’s insulted my lady for the last time. When she is my wife, she will not need any moon tea.”

_My Jon is no insult._ The indignation was hard to bear, but bear it she would.

“Lady Lyanna?” Arryn asked. “It is your honour we discuss. What do you think?”

She tilted her head up. “I don’t want to be accused of bearing Rhaegar’s bastard. I’ll take the moon tea gladly.” She turned to Robert. “My lord. It’s for the best. Besides, do the maesters not advise that women wait some time between each child? I would much rather bear your children in good health.”

Ned spoke on her behalf as well. “Lya was very fortunate to survive the stillbirth, Robert. This plan will allow her time to recover fully, in addition to Jon's reasons.” 

To her relief, Robert acquiesced. Sulkily, but he did. It had taken her so long to recover from the childbed fever. She had never been so ill in her life. The thought of risking that again was not one she relished. She could use the time. 

And what she had said about the moon tea was true enough, she thought grimly. She had borne Rhaegar no bastard, and the moon tea would be no burden. One son was enough for now.

 

\---

 

And just like that, she was once again a woman betrothed. “Will I see you at the feast tonight, my lady?” Robert asked. He looked like the happiest man in the world. 

He might be. Lyanna didn’t care.

“Of course, my lord,” she said.

She took the rest of the day to prepare herself. She more or less had to. The only dresses she had were for travelling, and the king’s betrothed having only travelling clothes constituted an emergency for the seamstresses. The blue gown they hurriedly modified to fit her was one of Queen Rhaella’s, she suspected. 

The rooms she’d been given were _not_ Queen Rhaella’s. They were instead temporary quarters for honoured guests. Lyanna suspected that the Queen’s rooms were being prepared for her even now.

Little more than a year ago, she had sworn never to wed Robert Baratheon. Now she was preparing to be just the sort of betrothed he wanted, a sacrifice for something she wanted more than anything else.

Jon, safe and happy. She would see him again, even if she would be a queen meeting her brother’s bastard son. 

Ned, thankfully, was the one who came to escort her down. She would have her fill of Robert’s company at the feast, she just knew it. “The dress looks nice,” he said politely.

“I don’t think it suits me,” Lyanna said. 

“True, it’s not leathers.” His smile was short-lived and forced. There was something wrong. “You are sure you can do this every day?” 

“It won’t be every day,” Lyanna said. “If Robert thinks I’ll give up riding, he’s sorely mistaken. I’ll be back in leathers soon enough, queen or not.” _This will not be my prison._

Ned shook his head. “You know I’ll have to return to Winterfell soon enough.”

She did, she just didn’t like to think about it. “I know.” 

“I’ll stay for the wedding. And the tourney Robert will no doubt schedule after it. But after that I must go.”

“You’ve stayed long enough already.” She desperately wanted Ned at the wedding. “Don’t feel the need to stay on my account.”

As already she knew he would, Ned shook his head. “Neither Father nor Brandon would forgive me if I did not stay for the wedding. Ben either. I’ve already written him, and from his last report all is well in the North for the moment.” He hesitated. “I also had a letter from my lady wife.”

“Catelyn Tully?” Lyanna had never met the woman. Ned hadn't spoken of her much. Brandon had spoken of her more, having known her for the longest. Lyanna had gathered he found Lady Catelyn both beautiful and rather boring.

“Yes, Lady Catelyn.” Another pause. “It seems I have a son.” 

Lyanna grinned. “Congratulations, Ned. What did she name him?”

“Robb.” 

“Robert will be flattered. And you’ll be a good father, I’m sure.” She believed it with all her heart.

It also meant, she realized, that Jon would have a cousin about his age. A brother. That was how they would grow up as. It was a double-edged sword, for as glad as she was that Jon would have kin beyond her and Ned and Ben, Lady Catelyn Tully was like to be _extremely_ unhappy about Ned keeping a bastard son of an age with her own son in Winterfell.

She wanted to apologise to Ned again. She did not trust that her rooms were free of listening ears. 

“Thank you,” Ned said awkwardly. 

Lyanna sighed. “Out with it, Ned. What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing of import.” 

She narrowed her eyes. There was one other thing that would affect Ned so that they could even allude to within the Red Keep. “Would this _nothing of import_ have anything to do with Lady Ashara?” 

His face utterly shut down. “Lady Ashara is dead.”

It was awful, but Lyanna couldn’t say she was very surprised. The Lady Ashara she’d met at Starfall had seemed half-dead already. That wasn’t the Ashara Dayne her brother had fallen in love with, though; he had fallen in love with a laughing woman who’d danced with him at Harrenhal. “I’m so sorry, Ned.” 

“She took her own life,” Ned went on, a crack in his voice. “It was too much for her. Ser Arthur, Princess Elia, the stillbirth –“

_The stillbirth?_ “Ned –“

“It’s nothing of import,” Ned said harshly. “But still, I cannot help but feel that there was something I might have done to help.”

“Like what? Abandon your lady wife?” _We’ve seen where that leads._ Neither of them dared say that aloud. “You know your duty better than I ever have, Ned.”

It was easier for her. She no longer loved Rhaegar. Quite the reverse. Her persistent, selfish reluctance to wed Robert was just that, selfish. Just because she had determined to do her duty and stand by her family didn’t mean she _liked_ it. But Ned, she could see, still loved Lady Ashara.

And the stillbirth. Gods. She hadn’t imagined that Lady Ashara had suffered a stillbirth as well. Obviously that babe had been Ned’s. One more thing she owed him an apology for and dared not. He told lies about her suffering while he suffered in silence himself.

But he did not wish to speak of it. Lyanna owed him much and more, so she would not speak of it either. 

And poor Lady Catelyn! At Starfall Lyanna had said that a woman in love with her dead brother would make for a poor wife. Now it seemed that Ned would go to his wife in love with a dead woman.

She still did not believe that Ned would make a poor husband. That was impossible. Ned wouldn’t do such a thing.

Her brother remained silent, head bowed, and Lyanna added, “I doubt Lady Ashara would have had you abandon Catelyn Tully either.”

That worked. Ned took a deep breath. “You are right.” His voice sounded leaden. Lyanna was not going to force him to cheerfulness. Only to the feast with Robert. He offered her his arm. “Will you allow me to escort you to dinner?”

“Of course I will,” she said. It was her turn now to comfort him, and she stayed close by his side all the way to the hall. Would that she could do more.

 

\---

 

Ser Arthur left them for a few days to make a brief trip to Starfall, and once again Lyanna had her husband all to herself. He had been in a strange mood since Ser Arthur had arrived, sinking ever deeper into his gloom. More and more when she woke, she was alone in their bed. 

Usually, a session of lovemaking would cheer him somewhat, but that was no longer the case. Today she had news for him that would hopefully shake him out of his bad mood. She had waited for Ser Arthur to depart just so she could make this special for them.

She bathed and ate and went to find her dearest love. He was sitting and staring at the mountains, idly picking out notes on his harp. Not a song she’d heard before; he must be composing again.

“I’m with child,” she announced, without preamble.

Rhaegar struck a sour note. It wasn’t a thing that happened often. “You are?”

“It’s been known to happen when a woman lies with a man. I’ve missed two moonbloods in a row. I’m with child.”

His response was as happy a smile as she had ever seen from him. It almost looked strange, how happy he was. “I’m glad,” he said, unnecessarily. He put down his harp and came to her. “It will be a girl. As beautiful and fierce as her mother, no doubt.”

“I’d like a daughter too,” Lyanna said. Rhaegar already had one of each. He had the heir he needed. If she could give him nothing but daughters so her children and Princess Elia’s could all get along, she would be a very happy woman indeed. “But for now…” 

He kissed her deeply. 

They slept the afternoon away after they loved, but in the evening Lyanna was startled out of her nap by Rhaegar, suddenly sitting upright next to her. “What is it?” she asked. “Is Ser Arthur back?” She couldn’t hear a horse, much less someone letting themselves into the tower. 

“No,” Rhaegar said, breath ragged. “We are still alone here.”

The setting sun slanted through the small window and turned his silver hair to a fiery gold. “A nightmare?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Tell me,” Lyanna insisted. She knew what he looked like after a nightmare now.

Rhaegar lowered himself back down to the mattress to look her in the eyes. “I dreamed of the Great Hall back in the Red Keep,” he said. “There was a dragon on the throne, and the skulls on the walls were those of kings.” 

“What do you think it means?” she asked. He claimed to dream true sometimes, as other Targaryens had before him. Lyanna wasn’t sure she believed it, but he certainly did, and it did her no harm to ask.

“I don’t know. Nothing good, I’m sure. I didn’t like those skulls.” He reached out to run a hand through her hair. “It’s nothing you should concern yourself with, my lady. It’s a dream, nothing more, and you are safe here.”

“Our babe will be safe here too,” she said, and moved Rhaegar’s hands to her still-flat belly.

“Yes.” He did not smile as he said it. “You’re right, of course. Our babe will be safe here. It’s more important than you think, Lyanna. More important than you could possibly imagine.”

 

\---

 

On the morning of the wedding, Lyanna visited the heart tree in the Red Keep’s godswood. _I’m getting married again today,_ she thought to the old gods. _I’ll do it for better reasons this time._

The heart tree was no weirwood, so it was silent. For that Lyanna was glad.

This time she had a proper wedding dress, white embroidered with silver thread. Beautiful as it was, she didn’t relish the thought of wearing it. It was uncomfortable, and bared more skin than she was used to. To balance the dress, she’d decided to keep her hair loose, sparing her an elaborate headdress and some of the fussing of her maids.

She was to wear a maiden’s cloak, a suffocating white fur affair lined with silk the colour of stormclouds. The fur had not been her idea. “The whole realm knows I’m no maid,” she’d said to Ned with a huff. “It’ll be warm out, likely as not. I swear I’m going to melt. There’s no point in wearing it.”

“You should go to Robert a Stark nevertheless,” Ned had replied.

“I already feel like a doll,” she’d grumbled. _This will not be my prison._

After this moment of prayer she needed to go to the sept. She was to be married (this time) in a sept. That one thing just seemed to her wrong. But of course Robert was a southron man, a southron king now, and he could not get married before a heart tree. So neither could she. 

She had at least wrung the concession that the wedding feast not be in the Great Hall. Her kin and Ned’s had been murdered in that room. Instead, the reception was to be in the next-largest hall, and then the first feast of the tourney somewhat grander to make up for the reduced reception. Lyanna knew she couldn’t avoid the Great Hall forever, but Robert had listened to her when she said that she wanted the wedding to be a happy occasion.

A tourney sounded more fun than just a reception, she had to admit. It wasn’t all bad.

She was carried in a litter across the city to the Sept of Baelor, with cheering people lining the streets. It was Robert’s name they shouted, pleased that their handsome, heroic king had the bride he wanted. More than ever she felt like she was on display. Rhaegar hid her; Robert flaunted her. Lyanna felt ill. 

_I didn’t want him. I don’t want him._

She wanted to ride back to Winterfell on her own horse. She wanted to feast with her brothers and perhaps even meet her good-sister Catelyn Tully and her nephew Robb. She wanted to hold her son and never have anything to do with kings or princes again.

Instead she had to make do with just Ned, waiting for her at the door of the sept, looking as ill at ease with the place as she was. “Are you ready?” he asked her, voice barely audible under the crowd.

“Are _you_?” Her brother was still in deep, if understated, mourning for Lady Ashara.

“Yes.”

Ned always did know how to stop a conversation. He offered Lyanna his arm and escorted her to the statue of the Mother, near where Robert was waiting by the statue of the Father. Those things were more unsettling than any weirwood face could ever be.

Her soon-to-be second husband presented a very different figure to her first. Rhaegar had wed her in plain wool; Robert wore golden samite. Underneath the clothing, Rhaegar had been lean, where Robert was muscular. Rhaegar had never been truly happy in his life. Robert was always looking for the next thing to give him pleasure.

_It can’t end worse than my marriage to Rhaegar_ , Lyanna thought, looking up at Robert. He, at least, wouldn’t dream of keeping her from her brothers.

The Seven preferred long wedding ceremonies. She said her lines, tried to remember the words of the hymns, changed her Stark cloak for a Baratheon one, and finally kissed Robert. She was officially his wife then, yet she felt no less a Stark, especially when Ned was still by her side.

After that, Robert placed a crown on her head and named her his queen. She didn’t want that any more than she wanted Robert. 

It was raining lightly when they emerged from the sept. It wasn’t dampening Robert’s spirits, or those of the crowds. They were still there, and a roar went up as they saw Robert. 

“They do seem to love you,” Lyanna said to Robert.

“They love _us_ ,” Robert said with a grin. “Look.”

And in amongst the cheers of _Robert! Robert! Robert!_ there were indeed some of _Lyanna!_ Probably from the Northmen still in the city, but cheers were cheers.

Lyanna had been cheered before. The mystery knight at Harrenhal who had dumped three unpopular knights on their pompous arses had earned delighted laughter and cheers of her very own. (It was her most precious memory of Harrenhal now, jousting in a tourney like she’d always longed for and then fleeing through the woods before anyone could discover her, laughing like a madwoman the whole way.) This was different. This was her name people were shouting. She didn’t know whether to feel exhilaration or discomfort.

Lords and ladies lined up to offer their congratulations, Jon Arryn first amongst them, Ned second. He even managed to smile at them.

Tywin Lannister was third. _He would kill my Jon if he could._ Ned said that Tywin was the one most responsible for Princess Elia’s fate, and that of her children. Tywin’s famously beautiful daughter Cersei was on his arm, proud in scarlet and splendid with gold. Ned said that Tywin had wanted her to be Robert’s queen, and Lady Cersei herself looked as though she wouldn’t mind a golden crown to go with her golden jewelry and golden curls. When she looked at Lyanna, her green eyes glittered with distaste.

Had the realm always been so full of snakes, or was she only just now seeing them? 

At long last, well past the point where Lyanna’s feet had started to ache from standing on hard cobbles in thin slippers, Robert turned to her again. “I have a gift for you, my lady,” he said. “It’s not the best weather for riding, but I thought you might like to go back to the Red Keep that way, rather than another bloody litter.”

He liked litters just as much as she did, it seemed. _Our mutual dislike of litters is a fine bloody basis for a marriage._ And a better basis than some, she supposed. She would know.

“I would love to ride,” she said, with her first genuine smile of the day. She hoped Robert couldn’t tell the difference between true smile and false. Even riding sidesaddle to preserve her dress would be better than a litter. 

“I thought so.” He gestured off to the side somewhere, and a groom brought forth a gorgeous black mare. “The finest I could find,” he said. 

Lyanna did not look her gift horse in the mouth. “And a fine horse indeed!” She knew horseflesh as well as any man, for all her father had said her interest was unladylike. Eager to get away from the sept, she let Robert help her into the saddle without complaint. Around them, guards mounted to escort them back.

It was no less a display than her litter ride to the sept had been, but it wasn’t a bloody litter. It was a horse ride, and that made all the difference.

She just hoped nobody made comment about how she was a _far_ better rider than Robert was.

 

\---

 

The reception lasted long into the night. It was a royal wedding, after all, and there was apparently some law against them being modest affairs. There was simply no other explanation.

“My wedding – and your brother’s – was a simpler event,” Jon Arryn said. He was at her other side, Robert having insisted that Ned sit next to him. Lyanna didn’t mind. It wouldn’t hurt to get to know Arryn better. (Try as she might, she could not think of him as simply _Jon_ ; Jon was her son.) “For my lady wife’s sake, I might have wanted something more elaborate, but we were pressed for time.”

“You are wed to Lysa Tully, yes?” 

“Indeed I am. She will be arriving from Riverrun within the next few weeks.”

“Is she coming by herself?” Lyanna asked. “If you’ll forgive me for saying, that sounds awfully lonely.”

“No, Lord Tully himself, and his heir, will be coming with her to swear fealty. He was injured during the fighting and has been recovering at Riverrun. He thought he might as well see his daughter safely here as well.”

Lyanna smiled. “I would be pleased to make Lady Lysa’s acquaintance, though it’s a shame that Lady Catelyn is the last Tully I am to meet.” 

“That is unfortunate,” Arryn agreed. “I don’t know what either of your brothers told you of Lady Catelyn, nor can I claim to know her well myself, but my impression was of a sensible, capable lady. Lord Tully admitted to me that he left Riverrun more in her hands than those of her brother or the castellan. You need not worry for Ned.”

“You’ve seen right through me, Lord Arryn. A woman likes to make those judgments herself, but I’m forced to rely on the reports of others.”

Arryn smiled at her. “He deserves some happiness after all this.”

“He’s my brother,” Lyanna said. “ _I_ think he deserves to be happy no matter what.” 

“As you say, your grace.”

The night also included many, many toasts. Many, man toasts that praised Robert’s valour in combat and outrageously talked up Lyanna’s own beauty. A few made mention of “the outrage” committed against her. 

_So that’s what they’re calling it now._ She wondered if they’d still call it that if they knew she’d gone of her own will. They probably would. Then she’d probably be led to the execution block.

Ned’s toast was the one she liked best. Because it was Ned’s. Otherwise it was not a toast for the ages. “To his grace King Robert and her grace Queen Lyanna,” he said. Robert roared something good-natured about Ned being useless at these things, a gesture that showed more than anything else just how much he adored Lyanna’s brother. _Another thing we have in common. That’s two things._

The more toasts there were, the more Robert’s hands wandered to her bodice. _He’s your husband. You knew what he was like when you said those vows._ She endured it. There would be more uncomfortable to come.

Nor could it be avoided. The cry went up eventually. “The bedding! The bedding!” 

Lord Arryn was the one to help her up from her seat. His hands were cold but gentle enough, and he passed her on to the throng of younger lords.

She realized that she hadn’t had _nearly_ enough wine for this.

Her left sleeve tore first, and the man who got it cheered and bore his prize off back to the feast tables. Her slippers were claimed soon after, easy targets for the crowd. She could hear stitching starting to tear as men pulled at her skirts.

Tears started to prick her eyes. She _would_ smile through this, she had to. Nobody could suspect that she was less than thrilled to wed Robert.

Her skirts gave way, and three men ran off with the long stretch of fabric. A lesser fight started there about who got to keep the scraps of a queen’s wedding dress.

The hands were getting uncomfortably close now that the bulkiest layers of her gown were gone. Unfamiliar hands all over her, brushing at her breasts, at her buttocks. Someone accidentally pulled her hair. A tear leaked out despite herself, and she forced a laugh to cover it.

Her bodice went, ripped away. The man who took it left a light scratch across her chest. Anyone could see it if they looked, since her chest was now bare to the whole hall. Before she had time to fully process that, her underskirt was torn off too, leaving her _naked_ to the whole hall. _Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods. This is why so many brides weep._

It was worse when the hands touched her skin. They picked her up and started to carry her away. She could hear men she didn’t know comment on her teats, on her belly, even on her womanly parts.

She was still smiling. She didn’t think she could stop smiling if she tried, the muscles of her face firmly locked. More than one tear had escaped by now. She’d long since given up trying to banter. 

It seemed an eternity before she was finally deposited on the bed. For a second she relished the cold around her, even if she was naked, simply because it meant that nobody was touching her. 

Lyanna had sworn to herself never to miss Rhaegar – and she wasn’t very good at keeping those promises, given that she was now most of the way through her wedding to the man she’d sworn never to wed – but she definitely missed the quiet and the privacy under the weirwood on the Isle of Faces. 

Robert was dumped on the bed next to her shortly thereafter. “All right, all right, get out of here, all of you!” he shouted at his own giggling escort. It had required a lot of women to carry him. Perhaps that number had even been necessary, for he was not a small man. 

He looked like he’d had a far better time of the bedding. He was hard already.

When at last the door was shut and the laughter outside muffled, Robert rolled over to face her. “Alone at last!” he said, and moved to kiss her. 

That close, he had no choice but to notice her tears. “My lady? Are you well?”

“Well enough,” Lyanna said. Her voice trembled and she cursed herself for it. “I’m sorry, my lord, I’m more than well enough to lie with you. It’s only that the bedding reminded me –“ 

“Don’t,” Robert said. “Don’t mention him. Don’t mention what happened. Not today. You’re supposed to be happy.” 

“I am happy,” Lyanna lied. “Just give me a minute to compose myself.”

Robert nodded. “Only because I love you, my lady. I must warn you, I’m not a patient man.” 

Lyanna took a few deep breaths, making the best of her minute. “I can well believe that. But the wait is over now.” She allowed him to climb atop her. She made sure to smile as he did.

 

\---

 

It wasn’t like the news came out of a clear blue sky. Lyanna had known something was wrong. She hadn’t known what, or how serious it was, and that at least was a shock to her.

Ser Arthur returned from Starfall and once again Lyanna found herself politely requested to make herself scarce. She was starting to get a bit tired of that, but she did love Rhaegar and so she did as he asked. 

_He’ll start letting me stay soon,_ she thought. _I’m to be the mother of one of his children._

When she returned, both men turned to her. There was a bag by Rhaegar’s feet. “My lady,” Rhaegar said, “Please sit down. We must speak to you.” 

_Finally_ , she thought. “What’s the matter?” 

Rhaegar closed his eyes briefly. “Everything is the matter. I hoped I could avoid telling you this until everything was over, but your father Lord Rickard and your brother Brandon are dead.”

Lyanna bolted upright. “ _What?_ ” 

Rhaegar took her hand and tried to pull her towards him. She resisted. “They are dead, my lady.”

She tried again to free herself from his grip. “I have to go, then. Ben will need me. Ned too. I have to go.” She had to pack, she had to get her horse – she wasn’t yet sure how she’d get out of Dorne, but she _had to go._

But Rhaegar’s grip on her hand only tightened. “You cannot. There is more to this horrible tale. My lady, war has broken out.”

“War?” she whispered. “Why?”

Rhaegar sighed. “My lady, you cannot possibly know how sorry I am to be the bearer of bad news. My father killed them. Lord Brandon rode to King’s Landing demanding your return to your family, under the impression that I kidnapped and raped you. In the process he threatened my life, and my father arrested him. When your father arrived to defend him, they were both executed.”

“ _Executed_? For wanting me back?” A thought struck her. “You said your father did it. When Ser Arthur came, you told me your father had done something you might need to settle.”

“I did.” 

“You knew.”

“I did.”

Before he could react or even raise a hand to defend himself, Lyanna struck her husband across the face, as hard as she could. “How _dare_ you!” she shouted. “My brother! My father! How dare you!” Ser Arthur stepped in to restrain her before she could hit Rhaegar again. She tried her best. Tears were falling from her eyes. “Let me go! I need to go back home!”

“Lyanna, calm yourself,” Rhaegar said. She noted with satisfaction that her handprint was coming up nicely on his face. “I just said there was a war. My father did not stop there. Your brother Eddard, Lord Arryn, and Lord Baratheon have raised armies. There is fighting in the Reach already, and Gulltown too.”

“I’m not going to _calm myself_ ,” Lyanna snarled. She elbowed Ser Arthur in the ribs, but he didn’t let go.

“My father has commanded that I return to King’s Landing,” Rhaegar said, as if she hadn’t spoken. “I must leave today.”

“No you mustn’t,” Lyanna said. “Your father _murdered_ my family. You wed me, they’re your family too. You don’t have to fight for that bastard you call father. Especially not against my brother.”

Rhaegar shook his head. “You don’t understand, my lady.”

“Don’t you _my lady_ me. You evil – evil –“ She didn’t have the words. She kicked backwards at Ser Arthur’s shin instead. He winced, but still did not loosen his grip.

“I _must_ , Lyanna.” He looked desperate now. Even a bit wild. “There are more things at stake than just your family.” He put a hand on her belly, and since Ser Arthur was still holding her arms, she was powerless to stop him. “Your Visenya, she is more important than almost anything in this world.”

“ _Bugger that._ I will throw myself down the stairs till I miscarry if I can get you to speak sense.” 

Once more Rhaegar sighed. “Ser Arthur, when I leave, please ensure Lady Lyanna does no such thing.”

“Your grace,” Ser Arthur said. Lyanna felt, rather than saw, his nod. 

“Please,” Lyanna begged. Anything. “Please, stay here at least. Just don’t fight Ned. You owe me that much. Just don’t go yourself.” 

“I cannot,” Rhaegar said. “My lady, no matter how I wish I could stay with you and our child, I cannot. It is – deeply, deeply unfortunate – that I must go to battle against Lord Eddard, but I fear it is unavoidable.”

“He’s not _Lord Eddard,_ he’s your good-brother.” Lyanna was back to raging at him. She never did that well with begging anyway. “You’d rather be a kinslayer than stand up to your father. You’re a coward.” 

Even that did not affect Rhaegar’s resolve. “I told you that there is more at stake, my lady. I hope you can forgive me –“

“I won’t. Not ever!”

“- I hope you can forgive me, but if the price I must pay for this is your affection and respect, then I will pay it. Please treat yourself well in my absence. I meant it when I said that the Visenya you carry is vital to the realm’s future. I leave you in Ser Arthur’s care.” He reached out to run a hand along her chin affectionately. “No matter what you think of me, I will think of you. You will always be my dear lady knight, and I will be proud to call you the mother of my child.”

Lyanna did her level best to bite him, but he was too fast for her. She spit on his boots instead. It was unsatisfactory.

He shook his head. “Ser Arthur, I trust you with the lives of both my lady and my daughter.”

“I won’t let you down, your grace.”

“This is farewell for now, then. I hope to see you again in a few moons.”

“Farewell, your grace. Good fortune to you.”

“Rot in the hells, bastard oathbreaker!” 

Lyanna barely saw him leave through the tears in her eyes. _Brandon. Father._ It was the last she ever saw of Rhaegar, and she didn’t regret not getting a better view. She only regretted not getting a better chance to hit him.

 

\---

 

The next morning Lyanna was very sore. She was a small woman, and Robert was a big man. Even with the soft mattress, his weight atop her had been painful. He had left already, presumably to bathe and dress. She needed to do the same. Today was the first day of their wedding tourney. 

The moon tea that Lord Arryn recommended she take was already waiting for her, still warm. Lyanna drank it, screwing up her face at the taste. It wasn’t the sort of thing one drank for pleasure.

Ned had been right. Dressing in fine gowns almost every day was going to get tedious very quickly. And wearing a crown forced her to hold her head oddly. It was heavier than it looked.

_There’ll be a tourney_ , she told herself. _Tourneys aren’t boring._

She went down to the tourney grounds on Robert’s arm, already getting used to matching her steps to his. He barely spoke to her, head in the clouds with happiness. They stepped into their box with a roar from the assembled crowds.

“You declare the tourney open, my lady,” Robert said, sitting back in his seat. “It’s your party.” 

Surprised, she did so.

As the morning wore on she noticed several knights who wore strangely familiar scraps of white fabric as favours, and she realized with a shock that this was what had become of her wedding dress. She had seen men fighting for scraps through her anguish, but hadn’t realized they wished to do anything with them.

“I told you they love you,” Robert said smugly when she pointed it out.

She called for a servant. “Find someone taking wagers in the crowd, anyone will do. I want ten dragons bet on the opponent of any man with my dress for a favour. If they win the bout, give them my winnings.” 

Robert frowned. “What are you playing at, Lyanna?”

_Serves them right for tearing my dress off._ She smiled. “Well, it would be gauche of me to favour those knights twice over, wouldn’t it? If it’s my tourney, everyone should have some favour from me.”

She still had to smile especially at those men with “her favour.” It was just about the last thing she felt like doing for them.

It didn’t take long for the two remaining knights of the Kingsguard to distinguish themselves. Lyanna hadn’t had much to do with them, since there were after all only two left. Ser Barristan Selmy was a crowd favourite, and Ser Jaime Lannister rode beautifully despite the jeers.

“I hate that man,” Robert said next to her, “But there’s no denying he can joust.”

“Ser Barristan is the better rider,” Lyanna said. “Would you be happier if we changed the final tilt to a simple horse race?” 

Robert barked out a laugh. “Probably. Let us keep to tradition for now, even if it brings Ser Jaime’s victory.”

Lyanna was in truth dreading the end of the tourney. Not because she’d be forced to say something nice to Jaime Lannister, she didn’t care one way or the other about that, but because Ned would be leaving afterwards. Just when he finally seemed able to smile again, too.

“I didn’t think you liked tourneys that much,” she said to him on the third day, while Robert was busy laughing with some Reach lords.

“I don’t,” he said. “I’m mostly glad you seem to be enjoying yourself.” 

Lyanna hesitated. Her evenings hadn’t been very fun. Robert was rougher than she liked in the bedding chamber. Yet she _had_ been enjoying the tourney. 

The tourney at Harrenhal had been wonderful. For all that many of her memories of it had been irrevocably sullied, there were others that still made her smile. How could she hate it entirely, when she had jousted herself and befriended Howland Reed there? She could, however, admit that the melted towers and the presence of Aerys had lent even the brightest moments a sinister cast.

Aerys would have killed her for her act as a mystery knight, she couldn’t forget that part.

This tourney, on the other hand, had all of the fun of the jousting, without the threat of imminent death. Being bedded by Robert at night was more of a chore than a danger. She could feel the songs and the colours and the people starting to drive the worst of her grief back. 

“You’re happy because I’m happy because you’re happy,” she said to her brother. “And round and round it goes.”

“Very circular indeed,” Ned replied. “I did not want to leave you here still miserable.”

“I won’t be so happy once you’re gone,” she admitted. “I don’t know what I would have done without you these past few moons.” 

Ned met her eyes, deadly serious. “I have no doubt you would have managed some way or another.”

“But not so well.”

“Perhaps.”

Impulsively, she threw her arms around him. “You’re my very favourite brother, Ned. Never doubt it.”

She felt Ned smile against her shoulder. “I will tell Benjen you said that.”

Ser Jaime Lannister did win the tourney in the end, and gave the Queen of Love and Beauty’s crown to his twin. Robert managed to give him his due prizes with good grace, though afterwards he said to Lyanna, “It should have been you.” 

“Ser Jaime won fairly,” Lyanna replied, looking down from the feast table to where Ser Jaime was standing guard. “There’ll be other tourneys, no doubt.” She dared not remind Robert of what happened the _last_ time she was Queen of Love and Beauty. 

She was happy enough for the moment, after all.

 

\---

 

As he had said he would, Ned left two days after the tourney’s conclusion, once his men had recovered from the closing feast. “I could appoint you to the Small Council,” Robert threatened. “Then you’d have to stay.”

“I would be forced to refuse the honour,” Ned said, face serious. “I’ve barely been in the North in the past year and a half.” What he meant was _since Father and Brandon were murdered._ Nobody called him on it. “I cannot adequately serve as Warden for a realm I scarcely know.” 

Robert rolled his eyes. “You’re a Northman through and through, everyone knows it.”

“I still must return.” 

“Yes, yes,” Robert said. “Duty, honour, honourable duty of freezing your balls off, I’ve heard it from you before. I’m going to miss you anyway.”

“Your grace.”

“I’ll leave you to say your goodbyes to my lady, shall I?” 

“Thank you, Robert.”

Robert clapped Ned on the back. Ned was knocked forward some ways. “You haven’t called me that for weeks! I was starting to wonder if you still knew my name! It was all _your grace_ this and _your grace_ that.” 

Ned inclined his head. “Like it or not, you are your grace, your grace.” Lyanna could see just the barest hint of a smile there. He truly must be recovering. 

“Ah, as you will,” Robert mock-scowled. “Say goodbye to your sister and be off with you.” He walked away, leaving Lyanna and Ned as alone as the courtyard allowed.

Now that the moment had arrived, Lyanna wasn’t sure what to say. Ned had saved her from that tower, helped nurse her back to health, sacrificed his honesty and honour to save her son, and helped secure a future for herself and Jon both. She could not ever repay him for that. She couldn’t even mention much of it.

“When will you send for your wife and son?” she asked.

“As soon as I return. It will probably be the first thing I do after I wash the travel dust off.”

Lyanna could not ask when he would send for Jon. “Will you let me know when you arrive?”

“Of course. I’ll be going straight back to Winterfell, no detours, no visits. My son is no doubt in good hands with his lady mother, but I’m eager to see him all the same.” 

That had to be Ned’s way of telling her to calm herself. For all the words were about her nephew Robb, Ned would not go into so much detail unless he wished to tell her something about Jon. She quickly figured the travel time and reasoned that her son would be at Winterfell in his uncle’s care in another three or four moons. That, at least, was good to know. 

She wondered how different her babe would look when he arrived at Winterfell to when she parted with him in Dorne. She would never know.

Ned would. Ned would look after her boy. That was her only comfort and it would have to do. 

“You know I’ll miss you,” she said.

“And I you.”

“Give my best to Ben,” she added. “It’s been far too long since I’ve seen him.” She owed him her apologies too. When she had confided her plans to him, he had kept his silence. He was a good brother. All three of her brothers were good men.

If only Brandon could still be here.

“Ben will no doubt send his regards right back, without much thought as to how I’m to pass them on. If he replied to my last raven, I haven’t received it. Mayhaps you’ll receive it here.” 

“And my regards to my nephew as well. Once you’ve met him for yourself, you must tell me what he looks like.”

Already she imagined that little Robb Stark was a near-twin to his cousin. Perhaps the boy took after his mother, but Lyanna had not the slightest idea what Catelyn Tully looked like. Brandon had said she was “comely enough,” a description that made Lyanna want to scratch her own eyes out, or better yet, Brandon’s. _Comely enough for what?_ When pressed for details, Brandon had spoken of Lady Catelyn’s teats and hips rather than her face, just to annoy Lyanna. So imagine young Robb as a little Ned she would.

“I will,” Ned promised. He sighed. “I must go now, Lya. I cannot delay any longer.”

Lyanna refused to let herself tear up. She had always known Ned must leave her. She could not possibly ask him to do more for her than he already did. He had his own life to lead. “I know. It’s just – how long will it be until I see you again?”

“Years, most likely.”

Years. They suddenly looked a lot lonelier. There were many people in King’s Landing and no doubt she would find herself some friends, but she held out no hope of finding another Ned to worry over her or another Ben to conspire with. She did not _want_ to find replacements for her brothers. 

“I’ll come to visit you,” Lyanna declared. “Then I can see Ben and Winterfell again. And I can meet my nephew.” She smiled. “Who knows, perhaps I’ll have more than one nephew by the time I visit. Perhaps I’ll have a niece.” 

Either way, she would officially have two nephews by the time she visited. 

“I look forward to it.”

“Me as well.” Ned was the only other person in this entire city who knew how much she wanted to return to Winterfell and see her nephew. And her “nephew.”

Ned mounted his horse. This was it. This was truly it. It was worse than when he was sent to the Vale to foster. “Until then,” he said, “Look after yourself, Lya.”

Lyanna stood straight-backed and dry-eyed. “You too, Ned.” 

With a sharp call to his entourage, Ned turned and rode away. He didn’t look back. That wasn’t his way. Lyanna, on the other hand, was the sort to watch him all the way out of sight.

Robert returned to her side as Ned departed. “It’s not going to be the same around here without him,” he said wistfully. “It might seem strange to say, my lady, but Ned’s as much of a brother to me as he is to you.”

“He is now,” Lyanna said, not looking away from her brother’s rapidly diminishing figure. Rhaegar had never thought of Ned as a brother. Rhaegar wouldn’t have thought twice about killing him. “By the laws of gods and men.” 

Robert casually put an arm around her waist. She wasn’t used to being touched so intimately, so casually, but she dared not flinch away. “Even before that,” he said. “I think since the day Jon introduced us.”

With Ned now out of sight, Lyanna turned to her husband. “Did you not miss your own brothers?”

Robert snorted. “Hardly. Renly was barely walking when I left, and Stannis…you’ll meet Stannis soon enough. Trust me, Lyanna, you’ll understand straight away why nobody would ever miss him.”

Lyanna had been so preoccupied with her own two surviving brothers (and whether they could ever forgive her) that she had forgotten her marriage to Robert brought her two new good-brothers as well. “Is Lord Stannis disagreeable, then?”

“Disagreeable doesn’t capture it.” He started to steer her back into the Red Keep, his hand heavy and insistent on her hip. “If you’re so curious, I’ll tell you all about it.”

 

\---

 

It was ravens from that very same Lord Stannis that gave Lyanna her first real glimpses of Robert’s temper. She had learned from Robert that he had trusted his brother with the siege of Dragonstone, where Rhaella Targaryen and a small garrison yet held out. The former Queen had crowned her son Viserys King-in-exile, a topic that reliably made Robert angry. 

Rhaegar had spoken to Lyanna once or twice about his little brother. With near twenty years between them, they hadn’t been close, but Rhaegar had misliked the way his father had doted upon his second son.

_It will ruin him_ , Rhaegar had said. _My family occasionally tends towards cruelty, and my father will only bring all of it out in Viserys if left unchecked._

It still made Lyanna fume, that Rhaegar had known that of his father and yet hadn’t done anything about it. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been surprised that Rhaegar had thought little of warring against Ned, if he also thought so little of leaving his blood brother in his father’s hands.

Robert had raged plenty when he had the report that Rhaella Targaryen was with child. “I kill Rhaegar, and his whore mother whelps a replacement!” he had shouted to Lord Arryn, who brought him the news personally. “Will we never stamp that accursed line out?” 

_Calm_ , Lyanna told herself. _As long as Robert doesn’t know about Jon, there is no danger to him._

It was hard to convince herself of it when the man she had wed was shouting about how he would like to kill all the “dragonspawn” again. _So this is why he and Ned fought_. Her older brother was too kind to let Robert’s words stand.

Lyanna wasn’t that kind; she was not going to raise her voice in defense of any Targaryen old enough for cruelty. Princess Elia and her children had not deserved what had been done to them, three more victims of Rhaegar’s neglect, Aerys’ insanity, and Tywin Lannister’s vicious ambition. Rhaella’s babe, if it was born safely, did not deserve to be killed either. That was the extent of her compassion for Targaryens. 

It was just as hard not to show her indignation. Even if Robert did not know it and would never know it, he insulted one infinitely more dear to her than he was. _Jon will be a good Stark man. Ned won’t let him be anything else. He is no dragonspawn like Robert thinks._

If she had a wish for her son other than to have him with her, it was that he would grow up to be a very different man to his father.

The day of the second raven started pleasantly enough. A servant came to her rooms to relay his grace’s invitation for her to come hawking with him, and Lyanna had put on her hunting clothes and gone willingly enough. Lord Arryn had given her a merlin for a wedding present, after all, and she had not had the chance to test it.

The hawking party itself had been enjoyable enough too. Several of the ladies who joined them on their little expedition sincerely enjoyed the sport, so it was easy to converse with them. 

It went sour when they returned. 

Lord Arryn was waiting for them, news in hand. “Your brother has sent word,” he said to Robert, which set them all hurrying for the privacy of the king’s solar. Robert hadn’t made much use of the room, but Lord Arryn insisted it be maintained anyway.

“You need not be here for this, my lady,” Robert said. “Women have no place in the affairs of war.” 

Lyanna raised her head and looked Robert right in the eye. “I have no interest in military matters,” she said. “I have every interest in the fate of the Targaryens. I am your queen, your grace, of the houses Stark and Baratheon.”

“Oh, very well. If you insist.” He scowled at her. “I still don’t want you there when we discuss reinforcements and the garrison.” 

Lyanna scowled right back at him. She really _didn’t_ have any interest in wars. That had always been Brandon’s and Ned’s thing. But she also hated being shut out. Her experiences with Rhaegar had reinforced that hatred with steel.

Before it could escalate into a true argument, Lord Arryn intervened. “It’s simple news, your grace, my queen. Dragonstone has fallen at last.”

“Good!” Robert said, instantly distracted and instantly jovial.

“Calm yourself, your grace,” Lord Arryn said. “There is more, and you will not be pleased to hear it. Ser Willem Darry slipped out of Dragonstone with Viserys Targaryen and his newborn sister Daenerys. He evaded Lord Stannis’ forces, heading towards the Free Cities, most likely Braavos.”

“ _What?_ ” Robert slammed a hand on his desk, good mood vanished like a summer frost. “How could Stannis be so useless? He can’t catch me a single old knight and two babes.” 

“He did have to rebuild most of the fleet,” Lord Arryn said in a placating tone. “Furthermore, he reports that casualties in taking Dragonstone were minimal. In all respects but this one he has done an exemplary job.”

It did not appease Robert. “Useless,” he snarled. After half a minute of pacing, he said, “I want them dead. Hire assassins. I’ll not have any Targaryens left. Aerys’ whore, this so-called king-in-exile, and the brat girl. All of them die.” 

Lyanna dared not move and dared not speak. She watched, eyes wide. _This is what could happen to Jon. Oh gods._

Seemingly unruffled, Lord Arryn said, “Assassins will not be necessary for Rhaella Targaryen. She died in childbirth. As for Viserys and Daenerys, they are in the keeping of a single knight whose line is all but destroyed. They no allies and very little coin. They do not pose much of a threat, your grace.”

“Does it look like I care what threat they pose? Targaryen scum raped my lady, burned Rickard and Brandon Stark alive, and insulted me. If they bear the name, they die. See to it, Jon.”

Without another word, nor even a glance at Lyanna, he stalked out.

Lord Arryn sighed. “I’m sorry you saw that, your grace.” 

“I am too,” Lyanna replied faintly. _That could happen to my son. Be careful, Ned, and I will be careful as well._ “I haven’t seen him that angry before.”

“He raged much the same when the news came of your abduction, your grace,” Arryn said. “It is rare for him to hold a grudge this long. If it’s his discourtesy towards you that concerns you, he will no doubt apologise for it when he cools his head." 

“And when might that be?”

Arryn tapped his fingers on the table. “He’ll realize how he treated you tomorrow, I would think. You may even find yourself the owner of another horse.”

Somehow, she did not think a simple horse ride would ease her anxieties. “What about the Targaryen children?” she asked.

“His grace insisted,” Arryn said. “I will be forced to pass his request on to Lord Varys.”

Lyanna felt ill.

 

\---

 

Once Rhaegar had gone, it was simple for Lyanna to determine what she should do. She needed to get back to Winterfell, or failing that, to the Riverlands in order to find Ned. 

She understood it was too late for her to stop the fighting. That didn’t matter. Ned and Ben mattered. She’d be damned if she let Rhaegar just shut her away here while her brothers risked and suffered. 

Brandon had _died_ for her. She’d be a poor sister if she just sat here and let his death be in vain. 

And she had to go soon. There was her babe to think of. Lyanna had been spared the morning illness that plagued some women, but her teats ached at even the pressure of her normal dresses. Soon her belly would start to grow, and she didn’t know if she’d be able to ride in that condition. She had to be on a ship north before then. 

She had considered trying to miscarry the babe. It was too late for moon tea, and Ser Arthur was not like to find her maester, midwife or hedgewitch to help, but a woman had options. Dangerous options, but options nonetheless.

In the end she had decided against it. She needed to escape, not to accidentally kill herself in her desperation. Besides, none of this was her babe’s fault.  _She_ wanted the babe, and despite its father.

She’d simply have to escape faster. 

The biggest problem was Ser Arthur. He was a constant presence in the tower, scarcely leaving but to do chores. Fetching water was the task that took longest, and that would be her best chance.

Once he left, Lyanna sprang into action. She stuffed as much food as she could into a saddlebag and took the last waterskins. Then she saddled her horse (she would have liked to take Ser Arthur’s, but it was simply too big for her to ride well) and cantered away.

At first everything went well. She made good time away from the tower.

It was the heat that defeated her. Dorne was far hotter than she was used to. Far hotter than her poor horse was used to. Good time became bad time. And soon after she had stopped for the evening, exhausted, Ser Arthur rode up.

“I’m not going back,” Lyanna said. She knew she’d lost.

“Prince Rhaegar told me to keep you safe,” Ser Arthur said.

“I’d be safe with my brother Benjen, in Winterfell.”

Ser Arthur did not move any closer to her. She watched him warily. “That’s not what he meant and you know it well, my lady. Now, will you come back willingly, or must I tie you up?” 

She lifted her chin. “Tie me up, Ser Arthur. I am not willing, and I will not let you forget it.”

Ser Arthur dismounted. He had brought rope, Lyanna saw. He’d been prepared to tie her up from the start. “I do not wish to hurt you,” he said.

“Liar.”

She wasn’t looking forward to this one bit. Trying to run from him would be futility itself. Of course, she could still climb up on his horse and ride peacefully back, but she wanted to make her point.

With a sigh, Ser Arthur made good on his threat. First he made her drink. Lyanna had not realized how thirsty she was. When Ser Arthur tied her, the ropes were not especially tight, but the knots had a solidity that Lyanna knew she would not be able to budge. “Is it truly so hard to believe I do not wish to harm you, my lady?”

Lyanna did not dignify that with a response.

“I have known Prince Rhaegar for many years,” Ser Arthur continued. “We have been friends all that time. He’s told me much about what he believes, things I know he has not told you yet, my lady. Not for lack of love, but for lack of familiarity with you.”

They began the slow ride back to the tower in the dark, Lyanna tied to his saddle. Ser Arthur had not the slightest hesitation in choosing that option, perfectly confident in his ability to return there in safety. Lyanna’s horse followed behind obediently.

“I believe Rhaegar when he says that the babe you carry is important for the survival of the realm,” Ser Arthur said, as Lyanna tried to watch the stars. The north star was visible at this hour, in this pass. She wished she could follow it. “Else I would not do this. It goes against every vow of knighthood I have ever made save the one I made upon donning the white. Would you please remain in the tower and its surrounds, and allow me to keep you safe?” 

“To spare your feelings?” Lyanna sneered as best she could in her self-inflicted, undignified position. “Why should I?”

“To spare your health, and that of your babe,” Ser Arthur corrected her. “It is clear you know little of the Dornish climate. Nor do I wish to restrain you every time I go to fetch water. It is not befitting a princess.”

“A princess locked in a tower hundreds of leagues from her _true_ kin.” 

“I know it cannot be a comfort to you, but princesses and queens of House Targaryen have been treated so before. The Maidenvault itself is named for the captivity of princesses.” 

“I shall have to try to be a bit more like them. They call Daena the Defiant, don’t they?” Lyanna had liked the stories of her best of all the Targaryen queens. Daena Targaryen who learned to use the bow despite being a woman, and who escaped from captivity to be with the man she truly wanted. She liked the escape part even more now.

“And she brought us all Daemon Blackfyre of her rebellion.”

They returned to the tower almost as dawn broke. Lyanna was shivering with cold (how could such a hot place be so cold at night?) and pain. Nobody had ever kept her in such an uncomfortable position before, and nobody had ever tied her up. Her skin was chafed where the ropes had rested. 

Ser Arthur frowned when he saw the red places on her wrists. “My princess, I am sorry for the harm I’ve done you. Make sure to keep those raw places clean. They will sting quite a bit in the next few days.”

“I’ve been chafed before.” She was used to the rigors of riding; she knew what it was like to be saddle-sore and raw in uncomfortable places. There was nothing different about this pain. Nothing at all.

She did her best to march into the tower with dignity, leaving Ser Arthur to tend to the horses, but she feared that she hobbled instead. Her legs were cramping up now. She would not give Arthur Dayne the satisfaction of seeing her in pain. 

When the door was safely closed between her and the rest of the tower, she sat down on the bed and wept. She had to escape. She _had_ to.

She couldn’t have her babe while in the care of Ser Arthur; she couldn’t let Rhaegar’s minions take her child from her. She couldn’t let them use her against Ned and Ben. 

And alone here but for a man she loathed, she would go quite mad.

 

\---

 

Some days it felt as if she’d traded the tower for another prison, one made of parties and duties and queenly chores.

But that was tolerable. She had a plan to deal with that. 

One morning, the morning after a particularly dull feast, she woke up at the crack of dawn and put on her most comfortable riding clothes. Jaime Lannister was outside her door (he often was, since Robert hated him). “We’re going riding,” she said to him. She could not escape _all_ of duty’s cage – she’d have to take at least one guard. 

Only one guard. For a queen that was liberty and solitude itself. Unlike when she was in the tower, she could choose when and where to go with that guard.

Ser Jaime didn’t complain. Lyanna had no idea how long he’d been on duty. “We’ll be out all day,” she warned him. “Find a replacement if you must.” 

“A day of riding sounds good to me, your grace,” Ser Jaime said, and followed her dutifully. The white cloak everyone said he shamed swirled behind him.

They trotted briskly through the city, just starting to wake properly. “Which way, your grace?” Ser Jaime asked once they were outside the city walls. “The Kingswood again?" 

“North,” Lyanna said. “As far north as we can go by midday.”

“We won’t see much in half a day on the Kingsroad.” He seemed amused. Most things seemed to amuse Ser Jaime; it was why Robert hated him so. She supposed there was something unnerving about the Kingslayer enjoying a private joke as he guarded another king.

Lyanna, now, she didn’t mind. Jaime Lannister had never wronged her. Oh, there was the oathbreaking, but if she was honest with herself the only thing that angered her about Ser Jaime killing Aerys was that she and hers did not get their due. She did not give half a groat for Kingsguard honour. Kingsguard honour had not stopped Arthur Dayne keeping her in that tower.

“That doesn’t matter.”

Half a day north was half a day closer to her home. Her _real_ home.

She spurred her horse onwards. She was the best rider in Winterfell, man or woman, and there were few in the entire north who could catch her when she rode as fast as she could on a good horse. She had a good horse now, and she left Ser Jaime Lannister trailing behind her. 

She rode until her horse started to tire, then dropped back to a walk. She had to let Ser Jaime catch up.

For a short, precious moment, she enjoyed being very nearly alone on the Kingsroad, a sunny field to either side. Everything seemed a brighter green here, and she could never mistake the South for the fields she’d ridden through in her childhood.

Ser Jaime caught up quickly. “You ride well,” he said when he reined up beside her.

“You too.” She kept her horse moving. It was not yet midday, after all, they could go further. “Do you ever miss the Westerlands?” she asked.

“The gods have blessed me never to feel an overabundance of homesickness.”

Lyanna looked sideways at him. “Surely there is _something_ you miss from your home.”

“My sister,” he admitted. “I squired at Crakehall while she was at court. We had never been apart until Father sent me away. She is here now, so I miss my brother Tyrion instead.”

“I miss my brothers too.” She turned her eyes back northward. “It’s been, gods, two years since I’ve seen my brother Benjen. I miss Winterfell almost as much.”

They were words she’d never dare say within the Red Keep. No matter how she tried she could not bring herself to like the place, nor the city it loomed over. She wanted to keep riding up this road until she got to Winterfell. Her family was there. Her home was there.

Ser Jaime’s voice broke her out of her reverie. “I’m quite sure we can’t make it to Winterfell by midday, my queen.” He looked around him. “Though we’ve made a fair attempt at it.” 

“And if I didn’t turn back? What would you do?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ser Jaime shrug. “Go with you. You’re the queen, my queen, and I am but a knight of the Kingsguard. You make the decisions. King Robert has said nothing about keeping you in the city.” He smiled. “Though I may insist we stop to rest.”

She turned to look at him. “But if Robert _did_ say to keep me in the city, you would.”

“I am a knight of the Kingsguard,” he said. There was something ugly in his green eyes as he said it.

“Even you, Kingslayer?” Lyanna pressed. “How precious about your honour can _you_ be?”

This man killed the king he was sworn to protect, to help his father kill Princess Elia and her children. And she was utterly alone with him, alone as she had been with no man before but Rhaegar and her brothers, with nobody to hear her scream. She had just said something very foolish.

Ser Jaime simply smiled. “Did your brother tell you how he found me?”

“On the Iron Throne itself,” Lyanna said.

“I made three mistakes that day,” he said. “Sitting down was one of them. Maybe I shouldn’t have robbed your dear Ned of his vengeance, but really. Aerys needed killing, and I was the man with the sword.” 

A chill ran down Lyanna’s spine. “What were the other two mistakes?” she asked, curious despite herself, and still afraid. But she would not let him intimidate her.

“The white cloak,” Ser Jaime said. “I should have stopped to change.”

“And the third?” 

He laughed. “I’ll keep that one to myself, I think. Family matters.”

Above them, the sun drew ever closer to its peak. Soon they would have to turn around and return to the Red Keep, if they wanted to get back before dark. They’d already ridden far enough that they’d miss the evening meal. _It will not be my prison._

“Very well,” Lyanna said. He’d already told her what she needed to know of him. “Come, ser. I think we need to turn around.”

They rode back in uneasy silence. Lyanna almost felt that she should speak to him, her only companion on this ride. She did not, however, know what to say. Somehow discussing the weather didn’t seem appropriate after discussing the murder of a king.

Robert was nowhere to be found when they did return. He was not waiting in her bed, thank the gods. Lyanna was exhausted. She left instructions with a maid to have a bath waiting in the morning and then fell asleep still reeking of horse.

Unfortunately for her, he found her when she took that bath in the morning.

“Where were you yesterday?” he snapped at her, barging in without even so much as knocking. 

“Riding,” Lyanna said. 

“All day?”

“Yes.”

“I wanted you last night.”

“And I was here,” she said calmly. “Later than expected, but here. I don’t mind if you found someone else to share your bed.” Once, perhaps, she would have, but not anymore.

He looked away from her. “I wouldn’t have had to if you were where you were supposed to be.” Then, the words Lyanna was dreading. “I want you now.”

“I still haven’t washed properly,” she protested. It would do her no good, she knew. Robert wanted what he wanted when he wanted it, and he wasn’t used to women telling him no. 

“It’s a wife’s duty to please her lord,” he said. “It doesn’t matter to me if you smell like horse, you’re still beautiful. I want you, Lyanna.” 

“Oh, all right,” she said, and got out of her bath. It would still be warm after Robert was done.

 

\---

 

If there was one thing about her new life in King’s Landing that Lyanna liked very much, it was the people. She had never had so many people to talk to before, and especially so many women. While there had been other girls to play and converse with at Winterfell, few of them enjoyed riding so much as she did, and fewer had been willing to play at swords.

She was under no illusions that all the ladies she took out riding in the Kingswood enjoyed it. Many of them simply liked being in the company of the Queen. 

But there were enough who were sincere in their liking for the rides that Lyanna was content. After so many moons imprisoned in Rhaegar’s tower it was a tremendous joy to have friends again.

There were others who were not so friendly.

It was worst during the times she was required to socialize with the other ladies of the court whose husbands held high positions. Such occasions invariably meant that Lysa Arryn would be on her right and Cersei Lannister (who was betrothed to Robert's brother Stannis) on her left. Lysa Arryn was an inoffensive sort of woman, shy, unhappy, and mind-numbingly tedious company (for Ned’s sake she hoped Lysa’s sister was more interesting), but Cersei Lannister – Cersei Lannister had barbs.

She was exactly the sort of woman Lyanna could imagine Ser Jaime missing dearly.

“Will you be joining us in the sept today, your grace?” Cersei asked sweetly, as the remains of the midday meal were cleared up.

“No, Lady Cersei,” Lyanna said. “Even if I followed the Seven, Maiden’s Day is not for me.”

“I would not dare suggest you attend Maiden’s Day,” Cersei said. “But I have not seen you at worship at all recently.” 

“I do not follow the Seven,” Lyanna repeated. There had been whispers about whether she’d raise any of her children in the faith. By _the_ faith they meant _their_ faith, the Faith of the Seven. She doubted Cersei Lannister’s concern was for Lyanna’s standing with the Father. “I keep my own gods.”

“So you do,” Cersei said, smile perfectly false. “I had forgotten. Your worship sounds so simple compared to hours in the sept.”

Lyanna could not help but raise an eyebrow. She could imagine Cersei liking more blood and vengeance in her faith than the hymns to the Maiden offered. She could not, however, imagine Cersei drawing comfort from the knowledge the weirwoods were watching, or enjoying the knowledge that she must pay for whatever she asked the trees.

For all the Lannisters were said to pay their debts, she doubted Cersei would want to pay the ones the old gods set. Men and women died, and the gods remembered why. _She ought stick to the Warrior._

It was hours before Lyanna managed to escape.

Her day was nevertheless brightened when she _finally_ received a raven from Ned. He’d taken his time. _He will have my Jon by now._ She smiled to herself. This letter would contain news of her son.

_As you may have guessed already,_ it read, _I have returned to Winterfell in safety. I apologise for the delay in writing, Lyanna, but I wanted more news before I committed ink to paper. My lady wife and her son have arrived at Winterfell. Robb is a fine and healthy boy and Lady Catelyn a good mother to him. She is a good woman, and I find I have taken a liking to her._

Lyanna almost teared up to read it. After everything that had happened with Ashara Dayne, she was glad he managed to be happy with his wife. Brandon would be surprised. 

_We have recently had cause for some strife, however. I conceived a bastard son during the war. He is also a healthy boy, whom I have named Jon, and I wish to raise him at Winterfell with his trueborn brother. Lady Catelyn is of course unhappy about this decision. I can only hope she and I can come to an accord on this matter._

That was it, that was what she had wished to read so dearly. Jon was now truly a part of Ned’s family. She felt bad for how it would affect Lady Catelyn, and worse for how Lady Catelyn’s anger would affect Ned, but her babe was home with someone who loved him.

It made her feel sad, too, because her son would be raised in a family without her.

_Benjen sends his regards. He plans to join the Night’s Watch, and by the time you receive his letter he will be on his way to Castle Black. I know you wished to see him. Simply send word well in advance of your next visit to Winterfell, and no doubt the Lord Commander will find some reason for Ben to visit us._

_My lady begs that you would pass her regards to her sister Lysa. I hope you are safe and well._

_Your brother, Eddard._

She read the letter three times, and the lines pertaining to Jon three more. How she wished Ned could have written more about him. A bastard was barely news for a letter as it were. 

“I had a letter from Ned today,” she said to Robert that evening. 

“How is he?” Robert asked.

“Well,” Lyanna said. Her heart pounded even as she tried to keep her tone casual. “His wife and son have joined him in Winterfell, and a bastard son of his as well.” 

_Jon Snow, bastard of Winterfell. Your uncles and I know what would become of you if you kept your father’s name._

Robert suspected nothing. Why would he? “ _Ned?_ ” he said incredulously. “Ned has a bastard?”

“So he wrote. He’s claimed the boy and intends to raise him at Winterfell.” 

Her husband shook his head. “Incredible. I never thought Ned would have a son before I did, much less both an heir and a bastard.”

He didn’t even have to ask. “I plan to stop taking moon tea, my lord. It’s been long enough,” Lyanna said. “The realm needs an heir.”

Another son. Maybe a daughter, and then to try again for that son. At least. She did not want to bear Robert’s children. She could not refuse to bear Robert’s children, no more than she had been able to refuse to bear Rhaegar’s after she learned his true nature.

One son by a man she did not love was enough.

_We’re Starks,_ she had said to Ned. _We’re not meant to be happy. We’re meant to survive._ Hadn’t she already learned that she couldn’t always have what she wanted?

 

\---

 

Ser Arthur did not physically restrain her again, and nor did Lyanna force him to it, but when two riders approached the tower, he shut her in the topmost room and locked the door.

It wasn’t necessary. Lyanna’s pregnancy was too far advanced for her to escape now. She could feel him move inside her now, kicking out from time to time. Rhaegar wanted a warrior daughter; Lyanna would give him a warrior with the strength to bear such a loathsome father. Son or daughter, she would teach her babe that they were both Starks. For the moment she would bide her time and hope that the riders below brought good news.

The door was unlocked, and Lyanna had her good news. The unfamiliar men standing next to Ser Arthur were all grim-faced. “My princess,” Ser Arthur said, “May I present Lord Commander Gerold Hightower and Ser Oswell Whent of the Kingsguard. Lord Commander, Ser Gerold, this is Princess Lyanna.”

“Princess Lyanna,” Gerold Hightower said with a bow of his head.

“Lord Commander,” Lyanna said. “I don’t suppose you’ve come to escort me back to my brother Lord Eddard?”

Ser Oswell chuckled, and Ser Gerold said, “Regrettably not, princess. We have come with grave news.”

Her eyes widened. “My brother –“ 

“No, last I heard, Lord Eddard was alive and well. It is your lord husband who is dead. Rhaegar Targaryen fell in battle, slain in single combat by Robert Baratheon himself.”

Rhaegar was dead? Lyanna’s hands went to her belly, where her babe was still. No kicking now. Rhaegar was dead, and Lyanna didn’t know how to feel.

Not grief, she decided after a second or two. She would not grieve a moment for Rhaegar Targaryen. Hating him had carried her through the last several months well. “I see,” she said. “Now what happens to me?” 

“That is what we must decide,” Ser Gerold said.

_Who is “we”?_ Lyanna wondered. _I doubt it includes me._

Continued Ser Gerold, “The rebels are marching to King’s Landing, Eddard Stark at their head. Tywin Lannister is finally on the move. All depends on him now, but Rhaegar ordered us to guard you and your babe.”

“The options, as they stand, are a ship to Dragonstone, a ship to the Free Cities, or waiting here,” Ser Oswell said.

“If we go, we must go now,” Ser Arthur said. “Princess Lyanna’s babe is due in little more than a turn of the moon. We will need to be in safety by then.” 

“I say wait,” Ser Gerold said. “Lord Tywin is heading towards the capital and has not declared for the rebels. We may not need to travel at all in a moon’s turn.”

“Then we wait,” Ser Arthur said. “I will send for a midwife from Starfall.”

“I’ll get water,” Ser Oswell volunteered. “It might even fight back. From what I’ve seen of Dorne it’s that sort of place.” 

With their tasks set, the knights scattered, leaving Lyanna alone in her tower again. They didn’t lock the door. They didn’t need to. She couldn't run. Even if she could, where would she go?

In spite of that, it was the best Lyanna had felt in a long time. Rhaegar was dead, Ned was alive, and the Targaryens must be losing the war. She did not dare say it to her noble captors, but she wanted to stay as well. _Fight hard, Ned. I’m here. Come and find me._

\---

 

Being with child was no less uncomfortable for her the second time. At least she wasn’t suffering from the Dornish climate. On the other hand, she had to sit through endless refittings of her dresses.

A queen could not wear simply anything to her good-brother’s wedding.

Stannis Baratheon and Cersei Lannister had been betrothed shortly after Robert was crowned, in order to shore up the alliance with the Lannisters. However, Robert had kept his younger brother so busy at Dragonstone that it had taken nearly a year for the wedding itself to be arranged.

Eventually, Robert got one too many ravens inquiring when Lord Tywin would need to set out to see his daughter wed, and set a date without conferring with his brother. 

Lyanna wasn’t sure who she should pity in the whole matter, or even if she should pity anyone.

The wedding was to be held at Dragonstone, to Cersei Lannister’s dismay. She had wanted to be wed in the Sept of Baelor, Lyanna knew. Lord Stannis was, for the moment, Robert’s heir. It would not have been unreasonable. For once Robert and Stannis had agreed – the wedding should be a show of Baratheon power in the former Targaryen stronghold.

“Miserable-looking place,” Ser Jaime commented to Lyanna as they disembarked. “No wonder Aegon moved on from here.”

“From what I’ve heard of Stannis Baratheon it suits him just fine,” Lyanna replied. They had both been privy to Robert’s endless complaints about his brother. Lyanna was almost inclined to like the man out of spite.

The man whose wedding they had come here to witness was waiting for them already. If Cersei Lannister thought she’d be getting a younger Robert, she’d be sorely disappointed. Lord Stannis had the classic Baratheon looks, but made them decidedly unattractive. He still looked half-starved from the siege he’d endured, and though he was younger than Ned, his hairline was well and truly receding.

He greeted the royal party with exacting correctness and all the warmth of a snowdrift, and when Lady Cersei was introduced, he took her arm with the relish of a maid picking up a dead rat.  _Cersei,_ Lyanna decided. _It’s Cersei I pity._

The wedding was as dour as the introduction had been. Lyanna did her best to converse with her good-brother, but he would not reply to her save through gritted teeth. Lady Cersei looked no happier.

And Robert was making fools of them all.

He was deep in his cups. He got like that sometimes, and those nights were when he was roughest with Lyanna. She had turned him away from her bed a few nights recently, claiming the babe put her in no mood for such things. It was true enough. She hated the smell of wine on him and the bruises it led to.

Now he was encouraging the attentions of a young lady who looked to be the daughter of a household knight. He was practically flaunting his unfaithfulness. Lyanna could feel her practiced smile get more and more fixed.

It was a relief when Robert finally disappeared from the hall, no doubt to bed the woman. Perhaps when he was done with it he’d come back, or at least – please, gods, at least – pass out somewhere harmless.

Eventually the cheers for the bedding were raised. Lyanna sat there, unable to join in, remembering how awful her own had been. At least she would not be expected to participate in her state. It was then that they all discovered exactly where Robert had passed out.

She heard the laughter. Someone said, “Gods hope the Queen doesn’t find out.” 

Lyanna said, “Find out what?” and from there she was taken to the door of Stannis Baratheon’s bedchamber, where both bride and groom were standing naked, unconcerned about it, and furious.

“Robert’s in there, isn’t he?” Lyanna said.

“Yes.” If Stannis clenched his jaw any harder, he was going to break it.

Lyanna peeked in. Robert was indeed there. The woman whose chest he had been examining earlier was in there too. Neither of them were any more clothed than Stannis and Cersei.

She felt very calm for some reason. “Where’s the second-best bedchamber in Dragonstone?” Lyanna asked. 

“The steward gave it to Robert,” Stannis said. No _your grace._ He must be as angry as she was.

“Perfect.” She turned to the assorted guests, and shouted, “The King is using Lord Stannis’ bedchamber at the moment! Where should we take Lord Stannis and Lady Cersei? I say we take them to the King’s bedchamber!”

Stannis had an instant to fix her with an icy glare before the cheering, laughing crowd hauled him off again. _Robert just shamed you too,_ Lyanna thought resentfully. _You and your lady wife. What I did was only fair._

The next morning, Lyanna sought her husband out. She wanted to speak to him while he was still regretting the previous night’s wine. Ser Barristan let her through. 

She didn’t bother with a _good morning_ or anything like that. “Never do that to me again,” she said, with her best impression of her father’s anger.

Robert groaned. “I can’t wait until you have that babe,” he said sulkily. “Then we can share a bed again and I won’t have to fuck serving wenches.” 

“She was a knight’s daughter. And I won’t share a bed with you ever again, babe or no, if you keep doing things like that. Fuck whoever you like, just don’t shame me like that. That was your own brother’s _wedding_ bed!”

That only made Robert more sullen. “It’s not like Stannis was going to use it.”

“His wedding bed?”

“Stannis wouldn’t know what to do with a woman if she was stripped naked and put in a bed with him.”

Lyanna very much doubted that. “What I do know is that he and his new wife were left standing here naked until I ordered them taken to our bedchamber instead.”

Robert leapt to his feet. “You did what?”

“It seemed fair,” she informed him. “You were using his bed, so I told him to use ours.”

“Lyanna –“

“No! I don’t want to hear it, Robert! I’ve never been so humiliated in my life! I just wanted you to know that, and maybe hear an apology from you, but I can see I’m not going to get that.”

She stalked out. She didn’t speak to Robert all the rest of the time they were at Dragonstone. He apologized to neither Cersei, nor Stannis, nor her.

 

\---

 

It was a scorching hot day that the worst of the news came, the news that all four of them could agree was terrible. Lyanna was flat on her back and hoping her babe would come soon when there was a knock at her door.

“Princess? Are you well? We must speak.” 

Ser Gerold was a very polite man. They were all very polite men. None of them were taking her back to her family, even now that Rhaegar was dead. “I’m well,” she replied. “Come in.”

“We have had a raven,” Ser Gerold said, once he had done so. Ser Arthur was there too, and Ser Oswell. Lyanna hadn’t seen the three of them together since the Lord Commander and Ser Oswell arrived. “King’s Landing has fallen.” 

Lyanna smiled triumphantly up at the ceiling. “Then Ned’s won. Will you take me to him now?”

“No,” Ser Gerold said. “King’s Landing fell by Tywin Lannister’s treachery. Aerys is dead, slain by our false brother Ser Jaime Lannister. Princess Elia and her children were also murdered, again on the orders of Tywin Lannister. The Usurper Robert has accepted the corpses of those innocent children as proof of his fealty.”

“Princess Elia and her children?” Lyanna tried to sit up. Ser Arthur tried to give her a hand. Lyanna swatted it away; she’d rather spend the conversation lying down than have _him_ help her. “But-“ 

“You are in the same position as she,” Ser Gerold said, very seriously. “You bear us no love and less trust, princess, I understand that. But while you may be safe from Robert Baratheon’s wrath, your child is surely not. If you want to save your babe, you may have to cooperate with us.”

She stared at the ceiling. “What can be done? I can’t move at the moment.” Where was Ned in all this? “Does my brother live?" 

Lyanna turned her head to see the Kingsguard knights share a meaningful look. “He rides south to break the siege at Storm’s End,” Ser Gerold said. “It is unlikely he has given up searching for you.” 

“What will you do if he’s the one to find us?”

She knew that Ned wouldn’t hurt any child of hers. It was unthinkable. He was a better man than any of these knights.

Ser Arthur knelt by her side. “You know the answer to that, my lady. Your brother is loyal to Robert Baratheon, we to Prince Rhaegar. We will fight to keep him from your child.” 

Lyanna closed her eyes. “If you hurt my brother, if you take me across the sea, I will make you pay. I don’t know how, but I’ll make it happen.”

“Empty threats,” Ser Gerold said. “Be reasonable, princess.”

“I am reasonable,” she said. She hated them. She hated them all. She hated herself for getting into this mess in the first place. And she was so, so tired. “Get out. Make your plans. We’re not going anywhere yet, are we?” 

The babe arrived the next day. _This is my share of blood_ , Lyanna thought. _The realm has bled and so must I. I deserve this pain._

Those thoughts melted away as her son was placed in her arms. “A healthy boy,” the midwife said, a smile on her face.

“Rhaegar was wrong,” she said, exhausted. “He said I would have a girl.”

“No, this is definitely a boy,” the midwife said. Wylla. Her name was Wylla. Everything seemed to be happening slowly. “That’s clear as day.”

“A boy,” Lyanna murmured, and remembered. Rhaegar’s son was dead. She held Rhaegar’s heir in her arms now. He would be the heir to all the seven kingdoms if Robert had not wrested them away. “Will you leave us alone for a minute, Wylla?”

The midwife retreated with a nod, and Lyanna clutched her son to her chest, desperately afraid. Her boy’s brother had already been murdered for the crime of having Rhaegar as a father. She and her son were both in the hands of these knights who cared not for the Starks. And her babe was a Stark. She was determined that he would be a Stark, in blood and upbringing if not in name.

_Ned. I need you. Ned, please hurry._

With nobody to see her pain, and no way to protect her son, Lyanna wept.

 

\---

 

The second labour was easier than the first. Once again Lyanna lay back on her bloodied sheets as a midwife declared, “A healthy boy!” 

The other people in the room started to murmur their congratulations. Lyanna wiped her sweaty hair away from her face. It had been easier than bearing Jon, but it was still tiring beyond belief. 

“Someone get the King.”

“He’s out hunting.”

“Get him anyway. The Kingswood will still be full of game when he returns.”

Lyanna looked at the babe in her arms. Her second son. She couldn’t love him any less than her first.

They looked so very much alike. This babe was almost all Stark too. His eyes were a little bluer than her Jon’s, but they might well darken to grey. She hoped so. 

And this babe she could keep. This son she could teach to be a Stark herself. One day she could introduce this son to his brother, though she’d have to tell him cousin.

All these things she could do now.

She slept, and when she woke, Robert had returned. That was not a welcome waking. “My lady,” he said. “I shot a buck for you.”

“That’s nice,” Lyanna said. What did any of them need with a buck? Unless they made its skin into something specially. Yes. She should order that. “I’ve given you a son.”

“So I hear,” Robert smiled. She realized that the boy was in his arms. “Have you a name for him?”

“Eddard,” she said at once. What else could she wish to name a son of hers, a son that she had the freedom to name herself?

Robert hesitated, an idea apparently striking him. “My lady, that is a good thought, and I would like to name one of our sons for your brother – but can we name this one for Lord Arryn? Jon’s been like a father to me since my own died, and I would like to give him the chance to hold a namesake.”

Jon. No, no. “Very well,” Lyanna said. She couldn’t let anyone know. Her first son was Jon. To protect one Jon she would name another. “I’ll hold you to that, my lord. Our next son will be Eddard.”

“Then this is Jon Baratheon,” Robert said. He returned the boy to Lyanna’s arms. “Rest, my lady. Thank you for my son.”

He left her there with her babe in her arms. “Jon,” she whispered, and refused to shed another tear.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! (And reading, and reading, and reading...)


End file.
